


Take Me Home Tonight

by HeckinaHandbasket



Series: I Don’t Want To Let You Go [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pretty Woman Fusion, Anal Sex, Billy Hargrove Being Gross, Billy Hargrove Has Issues, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy Hargrove is a Mess, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington Smut, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Fix-It of Sorts, Hop In This Handbasket We’re Going To Heck, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Sugar Daddy Steve, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 81,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24409201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeckinaHandbasket/pseuds/HeckinaHandbasket
Summary: The ghost of Billy Hargrove leaned in the open window of Steve’s car with that trademark smirk and, honestly, Steve was kind of impressed by how detailed his own hallucination could be.“Wanna fuc-What the shit? HARRINGTON?”They blinked at one another for about ten seconds before Steve’s brain finally managed to fire off a thought.“You’re real?”Steve couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, his own stupidity a constant echo in his empty head. Billy’s face reflected his thoughts as he yanked on the door handle until Steve reached over to hit the lock with shock-numb fingers.“Real fucking freezing. Let me in, pencil dick.”Or: The Pretty Woman AU literally nobody asked for.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington & The Party
Series: I Don’t Want To Let You Go [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987345
Comments: 651
Kudos: 809





	1. It isn’t safe to walk the city streets alone

Steve didn’t like to think he was a cliche, but, damn. The evidence was stacked against him, here.

Cruising down the strip at midnight in his BMW and sunglasses, still wearing his rumpled suit from work, eyes skimming over the girls shivering in tiny skirts and too much makeup.

Catching on a cluster of young men the next block down, biceps and navels on display even in the freezing weather, hips cocked at calculated angles.

Steve adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as one of them broke away to approach his car, smile stretching blue-tinged lips.

Steve rolled down his window to a blast of frigid Chicago air, tilting his sunglasses down as the boy leaned in.

“Looking for company?”

And, oh, fuck, he was a boy. Like, an actual teenager. Dustin’s age at the oldest, holy shit.

Jesus, Steve was a lowlife creep.

The boy watched him with guarded eyes, heavy liner smudged at the corners as Steve reached into his console and pulled out a wad of cash.

He held it out, cold air whistling across his knuckles as the boy snatched it quick, pulling on the door handle and brows knitting as Steve hit the locks.

“Door won’t open, mister.”

Steve shoved his sunglasses back up his nose, facing front.

“Go get your friends and find someplace warm for the night.”

The boy pushed away from the door with a quiet “what the fuck?”, hips swaying in artfully ripped jeans as he made his way back to his group.

Steve didn’t glance at another streetcorner for several blocks, bile thick in his throat.

He flinched hard as one of the streetlights overhead flickered out, the sudden wash of darkness strengthening his resolve.

He couldn’t go home alone.

He needed to find somebody. Just for tonight. Just until dawn.

A shadowy silhouette peeled away from the busted-up brick edifice of some warehouse, Steve’s breath stuttering in his chest as the circle of streetlight illuminated one side of his face.

One side was enough.

Holy shitballs, Steve had finally lost his goddamned mind.

He was seeing ghosts.

Well, a ghost. Singular. Just the one, so far. Christ.

He sat frozen, lead foot on the brake as the ghost drew closer, hands tucked into the pockets of his thin denim jacket.

No way. No actual, motherfucking way.

The ghost of Billy Hargrove leaned in the open window of Steve’s car with that trademark smirk and, honestly, Steve was kind of impressed by how detailed his own hallucination could be.

“Wanna fuc-What the shit? HARRINGTON?”

They blinked at one another for about ten seconds before Steve’s brain finally managed to fire off a thought.

“You’re real?”

Steve couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, his own stupidity a constant echo in his empty head. Billy’s face reflected his thoughts as he yanked on the door handle until Steve reached over to hit the lock with shock-numb fingers.

“Real fucking freezing. Let me in, pencil dick.”

He tumbled onto Steve’s ivory leather upholstery with a shudder, boots stomping heavy globs of grey snow into Steve’s pristine cream carpeting. The door shut with a thud and suddenly Steve’s roomy interior was half the size, every spare inch taken up by the sheer presence of Billy’s ghost.

“It’s colder than your mom’s snatch out there, Jesus.”

Billy cupped his hands over the vent puffing out warm air as quickly as Steve’s state-of-the-art heater could go. Steve reached over to crank it up to the max, hand brushing against the frozen edge of Billy’s sleeve.

It did not feel particularly ghostly.

Billy huffed out a breathless burst of laughter, raking Steve over from his tailored suit to his polished loafers. Steve pulled off his sunglasses, fumbling them into his center console, acutely embarrassed by his own douchebaggery.

“Look at you, man. All grown up and trolling for ass.”

He didn’t sound very ghostly, either. Or look it, up close.

Up close, Steve could see the wind chapped rosiness of his cheeks and nose, blonde curls blown into disarray. He looked like he had lost weight since his death, cheeks sunken above his square jaw.

Those eyes, though.

The eyes were the same. Steve had almost forgotten how blue they were. Baby blue and so damn pretty, like a girl.

“So am I sucking you off, or what?”

Billy’s impatient growl pulled Steve back into the present. Back into his car that may never be the same after Billy had sprawled out across his seat.

Steve remembered now, the way he had always left a mark.

Billy’s thick eyebrows raised as he leaned into Steve’s space, snapping his fingers under Steve’s nose and laughing as he jerked away.

“I got in the car, dipshit. Meter’s running.”

Steve cleared his throat, hating the way he sounded like his father. He tried to school his features into anything that might disguise the fact that his heart was trying to climb out his throat.

“You charge by the hour?”

Billy’s hands kept clenching around the cuffs of his jacket, legs restless in the footbed. He gave Steve the most condescending look he had ever received, and that was a long fucking list.

“This your first time, princess? Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

Steve ignored the shiver that crept down his spine as Billy’s voice dipped low and sweet, settling over him like a blanket.

He looked around the block of warehouses they were parked in front of. Nothing between here and the docks but an extensive menu of bad decisions. Nobody lived here, they just wandered down to fight or fuck. Or both, he thought, chewing on the scar at the corner of his lip that reminded him of Billy.

“Where are you staying?”

Billy’s face closed off, that hint of teasing gone in a flash. There was a shadow on his left cheek that might have been a bruise, fading now. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, damp curls springing back into place.

“Around. What’s it to you?”

Steve shrugged, aiming for casual but hitting right at demented robot.

“I’m just curious about your living situation.”

Or, really, just that fact that he was living. At all. Fuck.

Steve ought to know by now to expect the unexpected but, goddamn.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, Harrington.”

Books weren’t really Steve’s thing. He wasn’t much of a reader, never had the focus for it.

But, this. Steve could read between the lines.

“I just. I thought, maybe, if you were between places or something right now-” Billy interrupted him with a mirthless snort, facing away from Steve as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, packing them hard against his palm, “-if that were the case, then we could work out an arrangement that could help us both out.”

Billy’s eyes were wary, bruised knuckles tight around the slightly bent cigarette he had chosen, tucking the pack away.

“So spill.I don’t have time to sit here and hold your hand if I’m gonna make any money tonight. You got a light?”

Steve pulled his custom monogrammed lighter out of his pocket, holding it out as he tried to catch Billy’s eye.

“That’s the thing. I don’t want you to-”

Billy flicked open the lighter, running his thumbnail across the trigger while he scowled at Steve over his cigarette.

“Here’s a news flash, King Steve, I don’t give a fuck what you want. Bet that’s a real novel sensation for you, huh?”

The wave of nostalgia hit Steve so hard he swore he could smell the locker room. It made his stomach turn and his heart skip rope. It made him stupid. The words were out before he could think it through, which, honestly, story of his life right there.

“Move in with me.”

Billy’s cigarette flopped out of his mouth, filter barely hanging on as it stuck to his lower lip. Steve’s lighter flicked closed with a snap.

“What? The fuck?”

Steve ran his hand through his hair, wincing as he ruined all of his hard work that morning making the most of his best feature. Dried hairspray crunched beneath his fingers.

“I mean. Not like, um, roommates or whatever. But like, as an arrangement.”

Billy eyed him warily over the flame as he lit his cigarette, pocketing Steve’s engraved silver lighter like it was a gas station bic.

“Yeah you keep saying that word, and it’s just getting creepier every time.”

Panic pressed sudden and sharp within Steve’s chest, his entire body aching with exhaustion. He knew he looked like a mess, because he was a huge fucking mess. He gestured inarticulately, coming back to his hair to pull it into absolute ruination.

“I need. Things. And I can’t get them from a normal relationship. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Steve could feel sweat beading along his hairline, gripping the steering wheel just to hold onto something solid. He didn’t want to talk about this. He never talked about this. He had signed multiple government contracts specifically prohibiting his talking about this.

Billy’s hand crept toward the door handle, body held still and eyes sharp on his face.

“What kinda things? You some sort of freak, Harrington?”

Steve’s hair flopped in his face as he shook his head, all the volume he had worked so hard to achieve lost in a fit of nerves. He pushed it off his forehead, keeping the other hand white-knuckled on the wheel.

“Nothing weird. Or, shit. Like, nothing bad. I promise.”

Oh man, Steve was fucking this up so much already. Really putting his own personal touch of fuck-up on it.

“Not real reassuring, shitstain.”

Billy’s hand rested on the door handle, cool and casual and poised to leave the second Steve finally fucked up enough.

Steve leaned forward until his face pressed along the top of the steering wheel, the leather smooth and cold against his skin. He let his shoulders drop, mumbling the truth into his lap.

“I just. I can’t sleep. And I feel like I’m gonna bust out of my own skin sometimes, you know?”

He chanced a look at Billy, finding a hint of understanding rising beneath his snarl. Understanding and, fuck, maybe pity. Steve shut his eyes against it, letting the words tumble out of his mouth.

“And I need someone, sometimes. To just, like, hold me down. Keep me here on Earth, or whatever. And it would be real fucking convenient if it was someone who didn’t ask questions when I wake up screaming and shit, so.”

Billy didn’t seem the type to ask questions, because Billy didn’t seem the type to care. And, God, it would be so fucking nice to have someone around that knew exactly how shitty and fucked up and terrifying the world really was. Maybe Steve wouldn’t have to pretend, anymore. It was so exhausting to pretend like everything was normal all the time.

Like anything could ever be normal again.

“What happened? You scare away all your prissy little girlfriends?”

Billy’s lips pursed around his cigarette for a long, hard draw, smoke drifting lazily from his nostrils. He pulled his hand away from the door to ash out of the window. Steve was pleasantly surprised that he hadn’t let it drop onto his upholstery.

“Something like that. You game?”

Billy flicked his cigarette butt out into the dirty slush that lined the curb, rolling up his window with a stifled shiver as the wind cut off. Quick fingers tapped against the dashboard.

“What’s in it for me?”

Steve straightened up, reading all the signs that Billy was settling in to stay, or, at least dragging his foot in from where he had been keeping the proverbial door ajar.

“I’ll give you a place to stay, free room and board. We can work out a payment schedule. I’m not worried about cash. I just need you to be there when I get home at night. Keep a light on for me.”

The soft curve of Billy’s upper lip lifted in a sneer, disdain dripping from his west coast vowels.

“And bend over for you whenever you want, right?”

Steve’s face erupted in a mortifying blush. Stupid. So stupid, considering that this was exactly what he had set out to find. Better than, even. He closed his eyes for a deep breath before peeking up at Billy through his lashes, unaccountably shy.

“Um. Actually. The other way around. If you’re up for it.”

Billy’s sneer fell from his face as it rearranged into a frown, brows drawing together with incredulity.

“You can’t be serious.”

Steve pushed himself back into his seat with a sigh. Billy’s disbelief was almost insulting, like he couldn’t believe that Steve might have the balls to take a dick.

“I am. Serious. I’m fucking, very serious, man.”

Billy tilted his head, reminding Steve of a hawk following the path of a field mouse. Christ, he needed to stop watching nature documentaries to try to fall asleep.

“Not to talk myself out of a job, but, shit, pretty boy like you could walk into a dozen places around here and get any asshole to fuck you for free.”

Steve was already shaking his head, hand rotating on the wheel like he was revving an invisible motorcycle. Oh god, now he was picturing Billy on a motorcycle. Lots of leather. What the fuck, brain?

“Yeah, I tried that. But then they leave and. It gets real dark and real quiet and I can’t close my eyes and I’m gonna lose my shit if I can’t get some fucking rest.”

Billy’s face morphed into a familiar mocking grin, tongue poking out between sharp, white teeth. It really pissed Steve off how hot that was.

“You asking me to be your teddy bear, sweetheart? Tuck you in with a bedtime story? Sing you lullabies and shit?”

Steve rolled his neck with a satisfying crack, giving Billy his best poker face.

“Will you do it or not?”

Billy’s nostrils flared, lips tightening down into a thin line. His fingers kept tapping on the dashboard, picking out a beat that sounded familiar but was frustratingly difficult to place.

“I want half pay in advance. Cash. Not taking you at your word.”

Something low in Steve’s abdomen drew wire taut. That sounded like a yes. Or at least, it wasn’t a no. Holy shit.

He attempted to relax his shoulders, projecting an image of cool over his internal scrambling.

“Yeah, Yeah, of course. I just, I actually have another request and it’s kind of a dealbreaker so I want you to be really sure about it.”

Billy recoiled, pressing himself back against the freezing window glass. He tossed his head back with an ugly howl of laughter, eyes burning bright as he pointed his finger in Steve’s face. His dirty nails were chewed down to the quick.

“There it is. Knew there was gonna be some sort of sick shit you were waiting to spring on me. Rich fuckers like you always have something they’re trying to hide. Wanna piss on me? Need a fucking punching bag? Someone to grind beneath your boot? Gonna carve me up like a Christmas turkey? I’m not doing that shit, fuck you.”

Steve’s eyes crossed trying to focus on that finger, mind reeling at the tinge of fear he could taste in Billy’s wild accusations.

He reached up and batted the finger out of his face, unable to ignore the way Billy tensed like he was expecting a hit.

“Woah! Fuck, calm down. No I don’t want to, holy shit. Just. I want to be exclusive.”

If the sound of a record scratch had a face, it would be Billy’s at that moment, broad shoulders pressed back against the passenger door as far as he could go.

“What?”

Steve sighed, combing his hair back into shape as much as possible with unsteady hands.

“If we do this, I want to be the only one you’re fucking. No more, um, clients. No boyfriends or girlfriends or what the fuck ever. Just you and me, until we’re done. Can you do that?”

One time, in the shower, Steve had been startled to find a spider tucked up into the corner of his stall. After making a series of very manly noises and a naked jig of disgust, he had realized that it had just as much interest in confronting him as he did in confronting it. He finished his shower quickly and as he was drying his hair to just lightly damp enough for a few puffs of spray, he had watched it climb down slowly and carefully from the corner of his eye, ready to jump back up to the ceiling at the slightest provocation.

Billy eased away from the door in exactly the same way, just a few less limbs.

“That’s really it? Not gonna get me into your basement and pull some whips and chains out on me?”

Steve felt every hour of sleep he had been missing for the past week drop down on him all at once, stifling a yawn as he nodded his head.

“That’s really, really it, man.”

Billy’s hands smoothed down the worn denim on his thighs, relaxed sprawl belied by the tremor in his fingertips.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

He was so quiet that it took Steve a second to realize what he had said through the fog of his mind.

“Okay. Wow, okay. I didn’t expect you to agree to that. Okay. Cool. Yeah, okay.”

That was a smile. Just a small one, but it was real. It lit Billy’s face from within and reminded Steve that he was still a year younger than him, barely 22. He’d died four years ago last July.

“Are you having a fucking stroke?”

There really wasn’t any containing Steve’s tiny burst of hysterical laughter. Okay, it was a giggle, sue him. God, he was tired.

“Not yet,” he tried to swallow back another giggle, resulting in half a hiccup, “Do you, I mean, can I take you back to wherever you’re staying so we can pick up your stuff?”

His chest was filled with balloons, lifting him up and drifting away on the possibility of this terrible idea actually working out. Steve had a lot of terrible ideas, and actually pretty good luck so far with them turning out for the best. It was a talent.

Billy turned away, fussing with his jacket until it was buttoned up to his chin and speaking to his own knees.

“You want to start this shit right now? tonight?”

Steve wanted to start this shit fucking yesterday. He wanted to already be in his bed, with every light on and the sound of Billy Hargrove breathing right up against his ear. He hoped he snored.

Christ, Harrington. Be cool. Act like you don’t care, remember? You used to be cool. What the fuck happened? Like, besides the end of the world kind of a few times. And some light torture. Stop. Don’t think about that. Oh god, Billy was staring at him and waiting for an answer.

Steve traced his left index finger along the top seal of his door in a very cool, uncaring, entirely nonchalant way. Nailed it.

“Yeah. So, where should I take you?”

Wet, cold air hit him in the face as Billy pushed out of the car, tossing his words over his shoulder.

“Keep your panties on, I’ll be right back.”

Steve devoted a moment to reflection as he sat and waited.

He might have finally, truly lost it. This could all be an extremely vivid visual, auditory, olfactory hallucination.

God, Billy still smelled like cheap cologne and cigarettes. Throw in some tanning oil and you’d have the makings of Steve’s most embarrassing wet dream. Which was a high fucking bar, because his subconscious had absolutely no standards.

None. It was disgusting.

But there was something about being carried bridal-style by a dripping wet Billy into a field of daisies just to gobble each other’s cocks like they held the elixir of life that was, like. Take-it-to-your-grave embarrassing.

He jumped at a sudden loud noise, reaching for his weapon stashed beneath the seat before he saw Billy banging on the trunk, black plastic garbage bag flung over his shoulder and another cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

Steve popped the trunk with a thumbs-up that he immediately regretted. Christ.

Billy tossed the bag carelessly in the trunk, slamming it shut just a little harder than Steve would have liked before sliding into the passenger seat.

Steve waited until Billy turned his head a fraction towards him, breaking his staring contest with the windshield.

“Is that it?”

Billy puffed on his cigarette, clenching it between his teeth as he growled at Steve.

“Yeah, that’s fucking it. Can we go, already? Or maybe you want to sit here and braid each other’s hair, fuck!”

Steve checked his mirrors and pulled onto the road, executing a perfect U-turn that he was super glad he hadn’t screwed up in front of Billy ’gearhead’ Hargrove. Which, wait.

“What about your car?”

Billy has this way of jutting out his chin when he smoked that was the perfect level of macho intimidation. Ridiculously perfect, like he had gone to school for it. Steve hated it.

“What about it?”

Everything about his body language screamed at Steve to let it go, but Steve was not great at listening. Or backing down. Or, god, so many other things.

“Your car? It’s like, half of your personality. In high school you were pretty much just a greasy mullet with a Camaro and testosterone-fueled rage. Where is it? I can drop you by to pick it up, or-”

Billy planted his dirty boot on the polished wood inlay of Steve’s dash, leaning his head back in his seat to blow smoke out the window.

“This ain’t high school, dumbass. Just shut the fuck up and drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up for smut next chapter. Click it or ticket, y’all.


	2. Let’s find the keys and turn this engine on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerves fluttered in Steve’s stomach as Billy looked him up and down. So cocky and self-assured that it made Steve ache for things he couldn’t have anymore. Things he’d lost at the end of the world.
> 
> He leaned one hand on the bar as he offered up a smile of his own, popping open the buttons beneath his collar.
> 
> “I can’t believe your opening line was ’Wanna fuck?’, did they teach you that in hooker school or?”
> 
> Billy tongued the corner of his mouth with a chuckle, nodding and inching even closer. Steve could count his eyelashes from here, if he could count higher than, like, two million, Jesus.
> 
> “Gets the job done.”

Steve fumbled the keys, Billy cackling as he stooped to the ground to snatch them up, embarrassed flush crawling up his neck.

And fuck Billy for managing to look cool even when he was standing there with a lumpy trash bag hanging over his shoulder like some kind of sexy Santa Claus.

Fuck Billy for making Steve think up the term ’sexy Santa Claus ’, fucking gross, man.

Steve cringed as the door opened to his messy apartment, motion-activated lights illuminating the soda cans and magazines littering the coffee table and floor.

He hadn’t exactly tidied up before deciding to go out and find some company. In fact, he could probably make out the path he had paced through the clutter before giving up and grabbing his keys.

Billy pushed past him, turning on his heel to walk backwards as he surveyed the space with a low whistle. Steve thought that was pretty brave, considering the state of the floor.

He dropped the trash bag beside the couch, shedding his jacket onto the cushions before stretching his arms overhead. His dingy band tee shirt rode up a couple inches and gave Steve a minor crisis over the sliver of abs on display. How the fuck was he still so cut? And tan?

Steve’s belly was so pale that it reflected light, like the moon.

Billy brought his hands back down with an exaggerated clap, lips quirking in a predatory smile.

“Let’s get fucking started!”

He threw his head back and bent his knees as he shouted out the last word, making Steve wince at the thought of waking his neighbors.

Billy watched impatiently as he hung his coat on the peg, throwing his wrinkled suit jacket over the rounded back of one of the barstools pushed beneath the raised edge of kitchen counter that faced into the living room.

The realtor had called it a ’breakfast bar’ and Dustin called it ’badass’ and Steve called it ’bullshit’. Like he ate anywhere besides the much-abused coffee table, television on just to have the sound of people in the background.

He turned back around, breath catching in his throat as Billy pressed into his space, close enough that he could see the freckles on his face. Could just make out the faded scar beneath his eye.

Nerves fluttered in Steve’s stomach as Billy looked him up and down. So cocky and self-assured that it made Steve ache for things he couldn’t have anymore. Things he’d lost at the end of the world.

He leaned one hand on the bar as he offered up a smile of his own, popping open the buttons beneath his collar.

“I can’t believe your opening line was ’Wanna fuck?’, did they teach you that in hooker school or?”

Billy tongued the corner of his mouth with a chuckle, nodding and inching even closer. Steve could count his eyelashes from here, if he could count higher than, like, two million, Jesus.

“Gets the job done.”

Steve wasn’t backing down, and not just because there was nowhere for him to go. Because he had brought this on himself. Actually, genuinely brought Billy here, into his home, on purpose.

Like a dumbass.

He let his hand slide down the button placket of his French-blue shirt to rest on his belt.

“Hell of an icebreaker.”

Billy shrugged before rolling his shoulders and planting his feet. Steve didn’t know if he was about to get fucked or have the shit kicked out of him. His stupid dick was into it either way.

“People don’t come to me for conversation, amigo.”

He wanted to laugh at that, but the smile had dropped from Billy’s face, leaving nothing but fire behind. Steve’s skin was stretched too tight, mouth dry as he swallowed around nothing.

“Really? Shocking, because you’re so-”

Steve’s chrome and black leather barstools clattered together as Billy shoved him back against them, the one on the end falling over sideways with a bang.

He smacked Steve’s hand away from his belt, snapping the buckle open and yanking the strip of black leather out so fast that it slapped against Steve’s leg with a lingering sting.

Holy shit.

He was leaking, already, he could feel it. Just from that. This was going to be over embarrassingly quickly. He might break his sophomore year record, when Tina has told everybody and Tommy had laughed at him for weeks. Shit, please don’t let him break that record, fuck.

The bar dug into his back as Billy dropped to his knees, wrapping his hands around Steve’s ankles and jerking them apart to make room for himself. The leather soles of his loafers slid over the tile with a whisper. Chrome pressed cold against his pant legs on either side, stools clinking musically.

Steve’s breathing was the loudest sound in the entire apartment.

Billy unzipped his pants like they had personally offended him, leaving Steve thankful for the barrier of his briefs between his skin and the metal teeth.

The briefs were tugged efficiently beneath his balls, elastic waistband lifting them away from his body as Billy took a breath and swallowed him down to the root.

“Oh, shiiiiiii-”

Steve’s hands slid out over the smooth bar top, knocking over random shit as he tried to get a grip.

Get a fucking grip, Steve.

Billy sucked dick like the roof was caving in, fast and rough and sloppy wet, fucking his throat on Steve’s dick so hard that Steve had to dig his fingers in his hair and pull back just to keep him from hurting himself.

He was gonna break his goddamn nose on Steve’s pelvic bone that way, fuck.

Billy rolled his eyes up at Steve, tears streaming from the corners.

Steve’s dick kicked hard against his soft palate as he watched drool run over his chin to drip down through the stubble on his throat.

He petted his hand through golden curls, marveling at how soft they were, unstyled like this, wrapping around his fingers like clinging vines.

Billy pulled off, flicking him in the balls hard enough to make his stomach pull in and his dick throb. Asshole.

“Gonna make me do all the work here, princess?”

His voice was wrecked. Just, completely destroyed.

He leaned back in, jerking him fast as he licked over the head, flashing his teeth at Steve in a wicked grin before opening his mouth and pressing them, once, quick and rough and sharp around his dick.

Steve grabbed a fistful of curls in each hand, pulling back and shoving in so hard the barstools rattled.

Billy moaned long and low and dirty and Steve was gone.

He grunted and pushed deeper and deeper over and over again while Billy clawed at his thighs, breath whistling harsh and uneven when he got a chance.

Steve didn’t give him a lot of chances.

Billy could hold his fucking breath for the very short amount of time this was going to take.

Time? Time had no meaning, he couldn’t have said whether or not he broke that record if Russians had asked him at gunpoint.

Billy made a harsh sound, throat constricting around his dick and Steve shot off like a rocket, knuckles white in Billy’s hair until he pulled off with a pop.

Steve’s shirttails hung out over his sagging suit pants, stained dark and wet with spit and cum. Billy tugged on them as he opened his mouth, cupping his tongue around a white glob of cum, waiting to be sure Steve was watching before leaning off to the side and spitting it all out onto the floor.

Billy coughed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, pushing off Steve’s knees to stand with a hard slap against his hip.

“There’s King Steve. Fucking knew you still had it. So, now that we got that over with, where can I sleep?”

He sounded like he’d been gargling broken glass.

The bottom of Steve’s stomach dropped out as he looked down at the soft bulge in Billy’s jeans.

Steve was such a piece of shit. He hadn’t even noticed. Had really thought that Billy had been into it. Like he might actually have wanted Steve to fuck his face into the next century.

He stared down at the congealing pool of cum on the floor, stark against the black tile. Billy’s trash bag rustled off to the side and Steve pulled his ruined shirt off over his head, cufflinks pinging on the floor as he dropped it into the puddle. He would deal with that shit in the morning. That was a problem for Morning Steve.

Fuck that guy, anyway.

Billy finished shoving his jacket into the bag, hauling it up over his shoulder as he swept out his arm.

“Ladies first, Harrington.”

Steve walked past him, irrationally determined to keep some space between them, still reeling from the revelation that this thing was entirely one-sided.

He banished thoughts of Nancy with a frown.

Steve hesitated in front of the guest room, or ’cave of awesomeness’ as Henderson called it, trying to picture Billy in the kids’ space before moving on with half a shake of his head.

A lamp was on in his bedroom, permanently. He never turned it off, even during the day, just on the off chance that it might get dark enough for something to hide in the shadows at the corners of the room.

Billy didn’t blink at that, but he did notice the bat wedged between Steve’s massive metal headboard and nightstand, turning to Steve with eyebrows lifted.

“Expecting company? What, you owe somebody money? I know you didn’t put that out just for little old me.”

The bag squeaked as he adjusted his grip, shifting his feet with a glance at the door.

Steve wondered if there was a maximum capacity for feeling like an asshole, and, if so, when the fuck he would finally reach it.

Of course Billy would be afraid of the bat, Max had told him all about the way she had threatened him with it after he pounded Steve’s face into hamburger meat. Steve used to laugh at the story.

It wasn’t quite as funny, anymore.

“Relax, it’s for monsters.”

Which was not a sentence Steve had ever been able to say to someone he was sleeping with. It was kind of freeing, until he caught the look in Billy’s eye and remembered that he used to be the monster. Something Billy clearly never forgot for a moment.

“I’ll, uh. I can put it away, here.”

He grabbed the handle, ignoring Billy’s sharp inhale and shoving it out of sight under the bed, sure to leave it within his reach. Just in case.

He stood up with a groan, balling his hands and knocking them together as he rocked back on his heels.

“So, yeah. Here’s the bed. I usually sleep on this side, but if you want you can-”

Billy threw his bag into the corner of the room, flopping back onto the other side of the mattress with his legs dangling over the edge.

“I could not give less of a shit.”

He closed his eyes and Steve realized that he was just standing there staring like a creep so he retreated to his shower, hoping the steam might clear his head.

It didn’t.

He was just as muddled as ever when he walked out to find Billy lying on his stomach, drooling on Steve’s pillow and snoring like a lumberjack. He obviously hadn’t had a problem with keeping the lamp on, at least.

But he was still wearing his filthy boots, melted snow leaving a damp spot on Steve’s duvet.

Steve wrinkled his nose, tucking his towel more firmly around his waist before working on the laces and easing the first boot off.

No socks, weird.

Steve got the second boot off, dropping them both to the floor on Billy’s side of the bed before his brain finally processed that information.

Billy hadn’t been wearing any socks. In the snow. For all Steve knew, he had been sleeping in that warehouse without any heat. Christ.

Years of Hawkins Boy Scout Troop 5 training had Steve fumbling to check his toes for frostbite, pinching them to watch the blood flow and checking for discoloration. Billy didn’t even stir.

They were ice cold, but pink and responsive to pressure.

Thank fuck.

He practically ran to his chest of drawers, rummaging through his jumbled sock collection to find one of the thick pairs El had sent to him when she went through that knitting phase. They weren’t exactly both the same size, but they were warm as hell.

He pulled them onto Billy’s feet, smiling to himself as he realized they were at least a size smaller than his. That was kind of cute.

Getting the blankets out from under Billy took enough effort that he was sweating just a little in his falling-down towel. Billy responded only with a change in pitch in his snoring as Steve manhandled him over to one side and under the blankets.

He chewed on his lip, hesitating before going out to the kitchen and getting a hot water bottle to tuck in around his toes.

Actually, another blanket couldn’t hurt. He kept several in the hall closet, grabbing one and draping it over Billy’s side of the bed, smoothing it down across his shoulders.

In sleep, Billy’s face relaxed into something softer, something that hit Steve right in the gut. Under those curls he looked almost angelic, like a painting.

Steve was so very, very fucked.

He dropped the towel, pulling on some briefs before climbing into bed, eyelids already drooping shut as the glow of the lamp and the sound of Billy’s exceptionally loud breathing lulled him into the first easy, dreamless sleep he’d gotten in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn’t kidding about that Billy Hargrove Being Gross tag. Still not sorry.


	3. I can feel you whet my appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was Billy with his back turned, pulling his dirty shirt off over his head and tossing it in the trash bag in the corner, muscular back tapering perfectly from broad shoulders down to narrow hips still encased in tight jeans.
> 
> The second thing Steve noticed was, well.

Coffee.

Bitter and aromatic and accompanied by the sound of muttered cursing immediately followed by a loud crash.

Steve fumbled out of the sheets, hand reaching for the empty space that usually held his bat and slapping at the wall instead.

Bacon sizzled and hissed and melded seamlessly with the scent of brewing coffee.

Steve’s eye caught on the slumped plastic bag in the corner of the room, the lingering evidence of last night squeezing his heart back down through his throat.

Billy.

His shoes were gone, the other side of the bed made up tight like a hotel room.

Or a military barracks.

Steve usually just tossed the blanket over the top and called it done.

He pulled on a pair of athletic shorts, struggling into a soft old cotton sweater riddled with holes.

A splash at the sink helped to clear his bleary eyes, damp fingers through his hair taming the worst of his bed head.

Two mugs sat on the breakfast bar, steam curling lazily above.

Billy stood in front of the stove in the same clothes from last night, jacket back on and boots laced onto his feet.

He would have looked ready to bolt if not for the pan and tongs in his hands, shuffling strips of bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels.

Another plate practically groaned beneath the weight of an enormous pile of scrambled eggs on the counter beside him.

Steve climbed onto a barstool, noting that they had all been put back in order. He had just left one lying on its side last night. Collateral damage.

His shirt was gone from the floor, too, tile wiped clean. It was bizarre.

He pulled his mug in close, inhaling deeply.

Billy slung both plates of food up onto the bar top like a short order cook preparing to yell for some harried waitress in an old diner uniform.

He hopped up onto the stool next to Steve, shoving an empty plate under his nose, fork haphazardly balanced on top.

Steve watched in fascination as Billy piled food onto his plate, scooping up aforkful of eggs and stuffing in an entire strip of bacon before he had even finished chewing.

Steve snagged a piece for himself, nibbling halfheartedly as he watched Billy demolish his plate.

“Thanks. For the coffee, and breakfast.”

Billy swallowed another mouthful of eggs, tossing back his coffee like a shot of tequila before wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist.

“Not gonna thank me for the blowjob, princess?”

Steve choked on his coffee, coughing and hacking until Billy pounded on his back with a sharp crack of laughter.

“Guess that’s not how you like it, huh? Probably load that shit up with cream and sugar til it’s all thick and sweet.”

It was true, Steve had a weakness for lattes. He had no intentions of complaining, though.

Billy took both mugs, sauntering around the counter to set them down in the kitchen and open the fridge. He looked at Steve over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you just tell me how you take it, sweetheart?”

It could have been innocuous, if not for the wagging tongue caught between his teeth and the glint in his eye.

Flirting. Billy was flirting with him.

Warmth spread though him until he remembered the way Billy had reacted, or, rather, the way he hadn’t reacted last night.

Steve was just a client, this was a job. Billy was working right now. He wasn’t actually attracted to Steve and he would do best to remember that.

No point getting excited over a pack of lies. It was all bullshit.

“Cream and sugar, please.”

Steve forked some eggs into his mouth just to have an excuse to focus on his plate, moaning at the unexpectedly delicious mouthful.

They were the best eggs he had ever had. He hadn’t known scrambled eggs could have flavor, or texture other than rubbery.

“These are good!”

Billy slid his mug back in front of him with a ’yeah, no shit’ quirk of his eyebrows.

They sipped their coffee in a silence that should have been awkward, but somehow wasn’t. Steve had never had a less awkward morning-after, actually.

Usually he had to at least try to explain the lamp, if not the screaming.

It was nice to wake up with somebody he didn’t need to impress.

Billy set his mug down with a click, swiveling in his seat to face Steve.

“I didn’t see money on the dresser, so how are we doing this?”

Direct and to the point. Billy didn’t waste time beating around the bush. Steve could appreciate that.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I owe you for last night and an advance as well. I was thinking that we could set up a weekly payment schedule, every Friday maybe?”

Billy’s fingers tapped restlessly against the counter, curls tumbling over his forehead as he studied the contents of his mug.

“Weekly, huh? How long are you expecting this shit to last?”

Steve gracelessly descended from his stool like a baby faun testing its legs. One more reason he hated the stupid things, he could never manage to get on or off of them without looking like a dweeb.

“As long as you’re willing to do it, I guess. You still want cash?”

Billy hummed out an affirmative as Steve walked back to the bedroom to open the fireproof safe in his closet, pulling out a stack of bills.

He dropped it in front of Billy with a muffled smack of paper on Formica.

Billy snatched it up like there was a secret time limit and he intended to beat it, jumping down effortlessly to put some distance between them as he counted it, brow furrowed.

He stalked back over to Steve, waving the fistful of cash accusingly.

“This some kinda joke?”

Steve tried to put his hands in his pockets, realized he had no pockets, and ended up just awkwardly caressing his own thighs.

“No. It’s half pay in advance, just like you asked for. For the month. Plus a little extra for the late payment. Sorry about that, somebody sucked my brains out my dick last night.”

Billy tapped the bills against his palm, tonguing his cheek before peeling off a twenty and shoving the rest into his jacket pocket.

He folded the bill in half, holding it out between his index and middle finger the way Steve’s douchebag co-workers usually tipped the valet.

“This is for the socks. Then I need you to fuck off for five minutes. I don’t want you to see where I stash this shit, moneybags.”

Steve opened his mouth, denial on the tip of his tongue, ready to call the socks a gift, but something in Billy’s face stopped him. Something fragile and sharp, glittering like glass under the fluorescent kitchen light.

Something Steve was reluctant to break.

He took the twenty, ignoring the spark of awareness that ran up his arm at the brush of Billy’s fingers, calloused and rough against his own smooth hands.

“I’ll step out on the balcony for a smoke, I guess.”

He went to put it in his pocket, wiping it over his thigh at the second reminder that he had no pockets. He sighed at Billy’s snort of laughter, hiking up his sweater and tucking the bill into his waistband like the world’s worst stripper instead.

The laughter died on Billy’s face, eyes trained on the flat plane of Steve’s pale stomach, trail of dark hair disappearing beneath bright yellow shorts.

He dropped his sweater, turning on his heel and high-tailing it out to the balcony before his body betrayed him in ways these shorts were not designed to hide.

He didn’t even have any cigarettes.

Steve picked up the empty ashtray he kept on the tiny metal table between two chairs, twirling it on its side like a coin. He just barely managed to catch it before the damn thing careened off the edge to shatter against the concrete floor.

Thank fuck he had put on a sweater, it was freezing out here, far too cold to try sitting on the frosty metal chairs.

He slipped his hands under his arms, jumping in place in his bare feet.

Had it been five minutes? Was Billy being literal with that?

Was Steve risking a fist to the face if he stepped back inside?

He had just decided that he’d take the fist to the face when Billy wrenched open the narrow French doors, regarding Steve like he was a particularly slow puppy.

“Get the fuck back in here, moron. What are you trying to do, freeze your tiny dick off and put me out of business? Idiot.”

Steve shoved past him into the warmth of his apartment, curling up on the couch and wrapping himself in the clumsily knit throw tucked behind the cushion. It was meant to have stripes but had ended up with an uneven zigzag. Steve loved it.

He ignored the words that scraped against his biggest and oldest sore spot, focusing on the jab that didn’t actually bother him at all.

He leaned his head back against the couch, smile full of teeth.

“You didn’t seem to think it was tiny when you were choking on it, Hargrove.”

Billy threw his hands out, wiggling his fingers theatrically.

“All smoke and mirrors, man. First thing they teach us in hooker school.”

Billy walked away with a smirk, pots rattling soon after as he actually, unbelievably, started to clean Steve’s kitchen.

Steve pitched his voice to be heard over the sound of running water.

“How did you get into it anyway? The business?”

Billy turned around to face him over the bar, drying a skillet with one of Steve’s black and tan plaid dishcloths. He seemed to already know where everything was in the kitchen.

“Guess I had all the job qualifications. You know, high school dropout, running away from my dark past. Deep seated Daddy issues. Know how to take a hit to the jaw. Murdered, like, an ass-load of people that one time. All that shit. Plus,”

His tongue wiggled between sharp teeth.

“I could suck the chrome off a tailpipe, baby.”

Steve hated the way that got him hard. God, he was such an asshole.

He shuffled his legs under the blanket to hide his reaction, turning Billy’s words over in his head.

Shockingly candid, the ring of truth echoing through the deep, dark places in Steve’s own head.

He had expected another joke, some bullshit answer just for the sake of banter, but here Billy was, hitting him with the truth like a plate to the head.

It hurt in the way that Steve’s first instinct was to push it down, ignore and deflect.

Bullshit, in other words.

Pretty much his specialty.

Billy shut the bedroom door, making Steve jump at the sound. His footsteps had been so silent that he hadn’t even heard him walk past behind the couch.

Like a ninja.

Steve was only a little bit jealous of the ability.

He sat for a minute just snuggling into the warmth of his couch before remembering that he had forgotten to lock the safe.

The blanket fell to the floor as he stood faster than was probably necessary, making a beeline for the bedroom.

Billy wasn’t making any sound that could be heard from the hallway.

Steve debated knocking before just opening the door with an internal eye roll at his own timidity. He had fought monsters, for fucks sake.

There was nothing in the bedroom for him to be afraid of.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door was Billy with his back turned, pulling his dirty shirt off over his head and tossing it in the trash bag in the corner, muscular back tapering perfectly from broad shoulders down to narrow hips still encased in tight jeans.

The second thing Steve noticed was, well.

Scars. Everywhere.

Clusters of silver tissue scattered all over his torso, spidering out and twisting the healthy skin in odd directions as he moved.

Billy sat to pull off his boots, revealing a large mark just to the side of his sternum, the center of it pitted and deep. His pectoral muscles strained around it as he worked on the laces.

Steve remembered now, the way he had been impaled. The way Billy had stood up to the monster all on his own, died to save a little girl he didn’t know. One of Steve’s kids.

Shortly after Steve had hit him with a goddamned car.

Billy’s boots hit the ground with a thump, socks balled up and tucked inside. He leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees and mussed hair hiding his face. His voice scraped low and rusty in the space between them.

“Don’t worry, Harrington. You’ll always be the pretty one.”

Steve couldn’t get his tongue to work, mouth dry and throat clicking as he traced over the map of wounds inflicted by his own worst nightmares.

He had forgotten some of it, somehow. Lost the detail here and there. Here, at the base of Billy’s rib cage on the right side and there, just above his left hipbone. Snaking down his arms in fading lines.

Billy’s hands clasped together, knuckles white. His toes dug into Steve’s plush white carpeting.

“What’s wrong? Getting some buyer’s remorse now that you remembered I’m damaged goods?”

Steve shook his head, choked denial working its way past his teeth.

“No! No, of course not. And you’re not goods, Billy. You’re so much more than that.”

Steve would have liked to say that he wasn’t damaged, but, well. Steve was a terrible liar.

Plus, like, glass houses and shit.

Billy angled his face up, thumbing at a joyless smile as blue eyes burned right through Steve.

“You bought me off the street and lugged me home like a sack of fucking potatoes. Nobody likes a hypocrite, sweetheart.”

Steve wanted to say something, anything to defend himself. Nothing came to mind over the endless loop of bullshitbullshitbullshit.

Billy stood up and padded out of the room on his silent ninja feet, closing the bathroom door behind him with a soft click.

The shower turned on and the sound of rushing water snapped Steve out of his guilt-loop fugue state.

He decided to empty out two of his drawers, tossing shit he didn’t use into an old duffel bag in the bottom of his closet. He tucked the twenty from his waistband into the bottom of the second drawer, hoping it would just get mixed in with Billy’s stuff by accident.

He sized up Billy’s trash bag, trying to decide if it was worth the risk to just dump it out into the drawers. In a rare display of appropriate risk assessment, he decided against it.

The shower cut off abruptly, Steve shoving the drawers shut like he didn’t want to be caught making room for Billy.

He was unaccountably embarrassed by the thought.

Billy walked out, rubbing a towel over his hair, completely naked and, god, completely erect.

He must have worked himself up in the shower, expecting Steve to demand sex as soon as he got out.

Steve wasn’t sure which part made him feel worse about himself, Billy’s obviously low opinion of him or the fact that he was already salivating over Billy’s dick.

It was just as beautiful as the rest of him, thick and flushed pink at the head. He was uncut, holy shit.

Steve jerked his head up at Billy’s dark chuckle, caught staring.

“How do you want me, princess?”

Steve backed away, tugging the cuffs of his sweater down over his knuckles.

“You don’t have to do this. I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want it. We can just stick with the sleeping arrangements. I’ll keep paying you, don’t worry about that. I just-”

Billy advanced on him, totally unconcerned over the bob and sway of his hard dick as he walked.

“The fuck are you talking about, man?”

Steve threw his arms out in frustration, letting them slap back down against his thighs defeatedly.

“You’re not gay. Or, if you are gay, then you’re not attracted to me.”

Billy tossed the towel overhead with a flick of his wrist like it was a basketball, making it into the hamper flawlessly.

Like an asshole.

He tilted his head over his shoulder, tracing the edge of his teeth with his tongue as he looked Steve up and down.

“Well you’re half right. I’m not gay. I’m just happy to get my dick wet any way I can. I’m an equal opportunity fucking machine.”

Steve nodded, pulling at his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger, something in his chest sinking down into his gut.

“So it’s just me, then.”

Only Billy could look so annoyed while sporting a raging hard-on.

“What the fuck, Harrington?”

Steve was having difficulty breaking his staring contest with the slit of Billy’s dick, dewy from the shower. His foreskin had pulled back just enough to offer a peek of slick pink cock head. Steve’s heart rate picked up at the sight.

He threw his head back to stare at the ceiling instead.

“Yesterday, when you sucked me off. I noticed that your dick wasn’t exactly interested in the proceedings.”

Billy burst out laughing, slapping one hand flat on his belly as the other shook a finger at Steve.

“Hilarious, man. That shit’s fucking hysterical!”

Steve’s insides twisted with humiliation, arms crossed low over his stomach.

“It’s not that funny, asshole.”

Billy’s mouth went flat, eyes glittering with malice as he stalked closer, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s sweater across his chest.

“No, what’s funny is that you’re up my ass over how hot I think you are and you never once thought that maybe it was because I was tired and hungry and freezing and yours was the third dick I’d sucked that night, shit for brains!”

He used his grip on the sweater to shove Steve away, his back hitting the wall with a muted thud.

Steve was actually grateful for it because he kind of wanted to slap himself. He had never considered any of those things.

He mumbled an inadequate apology to the tops of his naked feet, pressing his palms into the textured bamboo wallpaper behind him.

Billy’s rough fingers caught him under the chin, grip firm and just shy of hard enough to hurt, lifting his face until he couldn’t look away.

“Wondering if you’ve bought a lemon? Wanna take me out for a test drive?”

He snatched Steve’s wrist, pressing his hand against the rigid line of his cock.

“Don’t worry, baby. I can always get it up for a pretty boy like you.”

Steve tried to pull his hand away but Billy just held tighter, squeezing until his wrist bones shifted uncomfortably before jerking him away from the wall.

“Nuh-uh. Customer satisfaction guaranteed. Get on the fucking bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is nothing but smut. Choo-choo, sin train coming through. All aboard!


	4. I feel the hunger, it’s a hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy caught his wrists in both hands, holding them down to the mattress on either side of his hips.
> 
> Steve huffed out an incredulous laugh with an irritated glare at Billy’s smirking face.
> 
> “What happened to all that customer satisfaction crap?”
> 
> Billy leaned onto his knuckles, digging into the mattress as he loomed over Steve.
> 
> “Oh, I can guarantee you’re gonna be satisfied, princess. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re here for smut, Congrats! You found it!

Billy’s thumb caught in one of the holes near the hem of Steve’s sweater, ripping it open as he yanked it over his head with a lack of grace that could only be considered belligerent.

Steve scrambled further up the mattress while he threw it over his shoulder in an unraveling mess without acknowledging the results of his carelessness. Typical.

He licked his lips as he surveyed Steve’s bare chest, dark hair and dotted moles scattered over his wiry frame. He reached out and tangled his fingers in the patch of hair over his sternum, giving a sharp tug with a grin as Steve cried out and slapped his hand away.

“Ow,” Steve deadpanned, rubbing a palm over the offended follicles.

Billy blew a curl off his forehead, running warm palms down the pale length of Steve’s sides.

“Relax. Just pulling your pigtails a little.”

Steve squirmed, fighting a blush at the softly spoken words and gentle touch. Billy kept smoothing his hands over Steve’s skin like he relished the texture of it, face set with concentration.

“Shut up. I don’t even have pigtails, you absolute dick.”

Billy pushed all ten fingers through Steve’s hair, squeezing and tugging it in handfuls to either side of his face. It had to look ridiculous. It felt ridiculous.

He angled his head like he was deep in thought, eyes twinkling.

“Nah. But it’d be real cute if you did.”

Steve knocked his hands away with a frown as Billy laughed and settled back on his knees, bare ass planted low on Steve’s thighs.

His fingers traced the elastic waistband of his shorts, pulling it back and letting go with a snap against his skin. Steve was braced for it, barely flinching this time, to Billy’s scowling disappointment.

He peeled them down Steve’s thighs, leaving the shorts in a tangled bunch above his knees while he considered his pale blue briefs.

He trailed his index finger over the bulging white piping of his y-fronts, running lightly up the shaft of Steve’s dick.

“Pretty,” he said, so softly it was like he was talking to himself. Steve had to lip-read the word.

Steve bucked his hips, jostling Billy’s comfortable seat as he tried to grapple the rest of his clothes off.

Billy caught his wrists in both hands, holding them down to the mattress on either side of his hips.

Steve huffed out an incredulous laugh with an irritated glare at Billy’s smirking face.

“What happened to all that customer satisfaction crap?”

Billy leaned onto his knuckles, digging into the mattress as he loomed over Steve.

“Oh, I can guarantee you’re gonna be satisfied, princess. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

Billy released his wrists, swaying forward and laughing quietly as Steve lifted his face for a kiss, detouring to lick a filthy line down the length of his neck instead.

Steve cut off the moan climbing his throat, clutching at Billy’s shoulders as he bit and licked his way down his torso, teeth pressing just hard enough to make Steve tense every time and clever tongue chasing the sting.

He paused at the barrier of Steve’s briefs, hot breath puffing over his straining cock before he smiled like a shark and caught the waistband in his teeth.

Steve stopped breathing, every atom focused on watching Billy Hargrove pull his Calvin Klein’s down with his goddamned teeth.

Like an animal.

It was one of those moments that deserved to be preserved forever in memory, he didn’t want to miss a thing.

The way Billy’s hair fell, damp ringlets bouncing against his cheeks, framing eyes like blue lasers on Steve’s gobsmacked face.

The blunt drag of his nose down the side of Steve’s shaft, nudging his balls aside as Billy tugged the fabric down to his thighs.

The snap and burn of the elastic as he let it go, rubbing his face at the crease of Steve’s thigh and snuffling loudly without a hint of shame like a wolf on the trail.

It was disgusting.

It was the hottest thing that Steve had ever seen.

His thighs remained frustratingly trapped together by his waistband as Billy crawled back up his body with slinking, smirking grace.

Billy pressed down with his hips, hard cock sliding sticky-wet over Steve’s belly.

“That feel interested to you, Harrington?”

Steve’s hands clamped around the rounded muscle of Billy’s triceps, fingers spasming as he thrust again, silky skin sliding through the rough trail of hair and catching against his navel.

Billy wouldn’t let him look away, cupping his chin with the crux of his thumb and forefinger.

“Still worried that I don’t think you’re pretty enough? Pretty enough to fuck?”

He shoved forward with his hips, Steve’s breath catching like he was already inside. Billy’s face lit up at the sound, fingers sliding away from his chin to pet down the center of his torso.

Steve’s mouth worked around syllables that should have been words, gasping as Billy’s hand closed in a tight, single squeeze around his cock before letting go with a hard pinch to his thigh.

“Flip over.”

He didn’t retreat an inch, breathing harshly right across Steve’s neck as he struggled to comply, legs tangled in his briefs.

Billy laughed low in his throat, pulling back to hook his fingers in what remained of Steve’s clothes, yanking them off to fall to the floor beside the bed.

Steve shoved him out of the way so he could turn over onto his belly, gripping his pillow as Billy pressed down on the small of his back, holding him to the bed with one hand while the other groped his ass, squeezing and weighing his modest curves.

Steve groaned into his pillow.

“Enough teasing, Hargrove. C’mon, just put it in.”

Steve would deny that the sound he made was a whine as much as he would deny that the motion he made was a wriggle. Steve was super good at denial. It was a great survival skill.

Billy hummed in disagreement, idly petting Steve’s ass.

“Hurts if I do it that way.”

Steve turned his best ’no shit’ face over his shoulder, trying to push up from the bed.

“Yeah. That’s kinda the point, so.”

Billy smoothed his hand up the dip of Steve’s spine, pressing his chest to the mattress with a strong shove between his shoulder blades.

“Not gonna hurt you like that, sweetheart. You’re getting the royal treatment.”

Steve bucked beneath him, but Billy leaned in with his whole weight, pinning him down. Even ten pounds lighter, Billy still had plenty of muscle on Steve. He tried not to find that hot, but, just like chemistry one and two, he failed miserably.

Billy laid down on top of him, covering him from shoulders to toes. Steve shivered at the wash of relief that came from being held so tightly. The fleeting sense of security in the blanketing warmth.

Billy nudged the back of his head with his nose, voice rasping across the nape of his neck.

“Shh. Relax, gorgeous. I got you.”

His fingers carded through Steve’s hair soft and sweet before tightening, pulling hard enough that Steve hissed in pain. Billy’s lips split into a smile against his skin, shifting his weight off to the side as he hooked his leg around Steve’s thigh, dragging his knees apart.

“There it is. See? I know what the fuck I’m doing. I know how to treat a bitch.”

Steve tried to lift his head in protest, but Billy kept one hand tangled in his hair, holding him in place. Billy’s mouth worked on the fingers of his other hand with filthy wet sounds right in Steve’s ear.

“I’m not a-”

He cut off with a gasp as Billy slid two sure, slick fingers all the way in up to the knuckle, chuckling under his breath when Steve panted through the stinging pressure.

“You sure about that? I think I could get you to beg for me real sweet, don’t you?”

Steve keened as Billy rubbed relentlessly against his sweet spot, running the edge of his teeth along the tip of his ear, soft voice lifting the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Like a bitch.”

Fuck, some of Steve’s wires must have gotten crossed because the way Billy said that sounded almost sweet. Almost loving. It made his heart flip over in his chest. It went straight to his dick like a jolt of electricity.

He made a noise he wasn’t proud of. Possibly several noises. He really hoped Billy didn’t notice.

“Ooh, you like that, don’t you, baby?”

Shit, he definitely noticed.

Steve refused to look at him, slamming his face into the pillow with a frustrated growl even as his hips pressed up into Billy’s restless fingers.

“Fuck you, man.”

Billy pulled back, fingers slipping from Steve’s body to trail down his thigh as he shuffled back on his knees, shoving Steve’s legs further apart insistently.

“Mmm. I’m counting on it, pretty boy.”

He sat back on his heels, hands running up and down Steve’s thighs in drifting patterns. Steve braced himself, but nothing happened, just more silent, patient petting. Billy was evidently waiting for Steve to make the next move.

He pushed up onto his forearms, twisting at the waist to glare at Billy.

“What the fuck are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

Billy’s lips spread in a filthy grin, eyes glued to Steve’s face as he grabbed his ass with both hands, pulled his cheeks open with his thumbs and leaned forward to spit directly on his hole.

The strangled noise Steve made in response should never have been given an audience. Especially not one that practically preened at the sound, blowing amocking kiss before casually mashing his face into Steve’s ass.

So, okay, yeah, Steve had been with dudes before. Even had a sort-of boyfriend for about three months a few years ago.

But it was fair to say, that in some certain, specific areas, Steve might have still been something of a virgin.

This. This was the area.

He had heard about it, of course, but he hadn’t really thought that anyone did this.

Maybe they didn’t. Maybe it was just Billy. That seemed plausible.

Billy’s tongue pressed slick and strong against his rim and Steve could feel his brain melting out of his ears, back bowing off the mattress with a shout.

“Jesus Christ!”

Billy pulled back just enough to flash white teeth over Steve’s hip, panting and slick all the way to his chin.

“Close, sweetheart, but not quite.”

Steve had never before wanted to punch someone in the face with an intensity rivaled only by how much he wanted to ride their dick.

It was dizzying.

Billy went right back to cheerfully making out with Steve’s asshole, licking and sucking and, god, thrusting his tongue just inside.

Billy was so fucking gross.

It felt so fucking incredible.

He had known, obviously, that he was sensitive there. Bottoming was pretty much his favorite thing about dating guys, but.

He hadn’t known, okay?

That was his excuse for the noises he made and the slutty way he arched his back and spread his legs to Billy’s sloppy, purring satisfaction.

The way some of those noises kind of sort of started to sound like Billy’s name, a little bit.

Billy was focused now on stretching him open around his tongue, stubble-rough chin bumping against his taint aggressively, shoving him so hard up the bed that his leaking dick rubbed across the bedsheets in so-good not-enough bursts of friction.

Billy’s mouth was so loud and wet and lewd that it made Steve want to hide his face in the pillow, clutching it with both hands. It made his dick throb and his balls ache.

Billy’s hand lifted up and came down with a resounding smack on Steve’s ass, laughing into his hole as he cried out, flesh jiggling against Billy’s face.

Steve kind of wanted to toss him off the balcony but he also wanted him to never, ever stop.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Billy did just that, sitting up to pull at Steve’s hair until he craned his neck to look at him, both of them breathing like they had been running a marathon.

Billy wiped his chin on his shoulder, leaving a shiny damp patch on his golden skin that made Steve want to sink into the floor but also maybe lick his face a little.

Billy’s eyes were wild, blue shrinking down to thin rings around yawning black pupils pinned to Steve’s red face.

“Look at you, baby, you’re a wreck. What’s the matter, Harrington? Nobody ever eat this perfect little ass before?”

Surprise flickered across his face as Steve shook his head, quickly smothered by smug satisfaction.

His fingers tightened in Steve’s hair possessively, other hand caressing his ass with exaggerated care.

“Aw, princess. Did I just pop your cherry? You should’ve told me, honey. I would’ve held your hand, maybe put Careless Whisper on for you. Lit a goddamned candle.”

Steve threw his pillow to bounce off Billy’s chest as he batted it away, laughing.

“Eat a dick, Hargrove.”

Billy’s tongue poked out between his teeth, lips red and swollen and every inch of him absolutely obscene.

He dropped Steve’s face down to the mattress and gleefully smacked his ass.

“Maybe next time, yeah? Wouldn’t want you to come all over yourself before the main event. Now, where’s your shit?”

Steve had to scrape a few brain cells off the floor to form a response, cheek pressed to the bed.

“My what?”

Okay, so it wasn’t, like, an amazing response. He couldn’t find that many brain cells on such short notice.

Billy sighed, brushing the hair out of Steve’s eyes with confusing care, fingers trailing across his forehead to curve soft around his ear.

“C’mon, numbnuts, I’m not taking you on a spit ride when you’re practically a fucking virgin.”

Steve wrinkled his nose, raising his voice with affront.

“I’m not a-”

“Lube.”

Billy held out his hand, snapping in front of Steve’s nose as he made his demand.

Steve considered just leaning over and biting his fucking fingers but instead he dutifully slapped the bottle of lube he kept wedged between his mattress and headboard into Billy’s palm.

He expected Billy to pour some into his palm, slick up his dick, and go to town.

Maybe just drizzle some down Steve’s crack and let the universe sort out the rest.

He did none of those things.

Steve flailed onto his back as Billy looked at the bottle, dropped in on the mattress and got off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

Billy didn’t even glance at him, rummaging in Steve’s nightstand, knocking an empty water bottle to the floor to disappear under the bed.

“Calm your tits. I’m just getting a rubber.”

Steve pushed up onto his elbows, fighting a blush over the way his legs splayed open, dick flushed purple against his belly, begging for attention.

“You don’t need one. We’re both dudes.”

Billy turned around, brows raised over the strip of condoms dangling from his teeth. He yanked them hard, ripping the corner open on the top and letting the whole strip fall to the bed.

Steve knew that he should probably feel a little concerned over how many Billy had gotten out of the drawer. All he felt was a trickling warmth spread through his belly at the possibilities.

He fell back on the bed with Billy’s fingers jabbed into his sternum, Billy close behind, teeth bared.

“Yeah, dumbass. We’re both dudes. And I’m a fucking hooker.”

He spat out the words like some kind of challenge.

Steve pushed back, he knew this dance, they’d been learning the steps from the first moment they met. This was his comfort zone.

“Whatever man, it’s not like you’re gonna knock me up.”

Nails dug into his chest where Billy held him down, long, shallow scratches left behind as he brought his hand around to tug Steve’s head back hard, baring his throat. Billy’s nostrils flared with rage.

“You do this often, princess? Bring home gutter trash and let them fuck you raw?”

His expression told Steve that the answer had better be no. And that would be the truth, Steve was usually very careful.

He’d never gone bare before with anyone he didn’t love. He really didn’t want to examine why he was so comfortable suggesting it with Billy.

But of course Steve also had to be a little shit. It was kind of his thing. The truth didn’t enter into it.

“Maybe I do. What do you care, anyway?”

He collapsed on the mattress as Billy let him go all at once, pushing up onto his knees between Steve’s legs.

His head hung low as he pulled a condom out of the shredded wrapper, curls obscuring his face. Corded muscles stood out on his tan forearms as he rolled it on in swift, practiced movements, carelessly rough with himself.

Just as Steve had predicted, he poured far too much lube onto his palm, slicking himself up with quick, efficient strokes, wiping wet fingers against Steve’s hole before sliding two of them in and out so quickly that Steve barely had time to catch his breath.

Billy pulled his fingers away and Steve tried to sit up, meaningless shit-talk on the tip of his tongue, only letting out a squeak as Billy took a firm hold of his hips and flipped him over like a rag doll, pushing and pulling his limbs until Steve lay ass-up with his face smashed against the mattress.

The first thrust was brutal.

Deep and unrelenting, sending Steve’s fingers scrambling at the sheets and punching the air from his lungs.

Billy laughed low and mean, hands holding Steve’s hips in a punishing grip.

“You wanted rough trade, baby, you got it.”

He pulled back, barely letting Steve take a breath before snapping his hips hard and fast, skin slapping together as his hipbones dug into Steve’s cheeks.

Steve’s mouth hung open, unable to keep from making little ’ah, ah, ah’ sounds at every thrust.

Billy’s fingers shifted around his hips, pulling Steve back onto him with enough force that he knew there were going to be bruises left behind.

Just the thought of it made him moan.

“Yeah? You like that, pretty boy?”

Steve hissed out an affirmative, gasping as Billy spread his knees apart and changed the angle to one that sent Steve to another planet, holy shit.

“Oh, you like it, alright. C’mon baby, show me how bad you needed this.”

Steve rolled his face against the bed, fingers ripping the elastic corner of the bottom sheet off of the mattress.

His mouth hung open, cock hard and leaking between the spread of his thighs.

“So bad. So bad, Billy, fuck.”

He was panting, drool collecting at the corner of his mouth until he had to swallow against it.

Billy slid sure and thick and strong against all of Steve’s secret places and it felt like he was reaching further inside Steve than he ought to be able to go, brushing against something in his chest that ached and shuddered and cried out for more.

Billy kept talking like the words were being yanked out of him, just loud enough to be heard over the slick slap of their bodies.

“You take it so good, baby. I fucking knew it. I knew you’d be like this.”

He emphasized the last word with a sharp thrust, jabbing right at Steve’s sweet spot.

Steve yelled, throwing a hand behind himself to dig into the back of Billy’s thigh, slamming his other hand against the headboard to push into every thrust.

Billy groaned, voice dropping to a honey-rough rattle in his throat.

“Always knew you’d be sweet. Perfect. So goddamned pretty.”

Steve didn’t think he could form words, floating on a dick high he had never been able to achieve with anyone else, all the dark corners of his mind clouded over with bliss.

He didn’t want to say that fucking Billy was life-changing, but. It wasn’t...not.

Steve knew he could let go without judgement, half because he didn’t care what Billy thought of him and half because the way Billy held him down with strong hands and a soft voice made Steve feel.

Safe.

He moaned and clenched down at the thought, Billy grunting behind him as his hips went a little wild, losing some of their rhythm and pushing faster and faster like he was trying to burrow inside of Steve.

He dragged one of his hands over the crest of Steve’s hipbone, fingers curving confidently around his cock as he swept his thumb up over the head, smearing precum around in tight little circles.

He pressed his chest so close to the arch of Steve’s back that he could feel the rumble when Billy talked, face rubbing at the base of his neck just a shade too hard to be a nuzzle, stubble catching at his skin.

“Feel that? You get so wet for me. Making a mess all over your rich-boy sheets. That’s so fucking hot, baby.”

Steve wanted to tell him to fuck off, but all that came out was a long, hitching whine as Billy’s fingers tightened and sped up.

“Yeah? You gonna come, baby? Tell me.”

Steve shook his head, face dragging over sheets that were a complete mess now, Billy was right. Steve was a fucking mess, too.

Billy stopped moving, hips pressed so hard to Steve’s ass that he could feel the muscles in his thighs shaking, hand gripping his cock tightly at the base as Steve throbbed and bucked and yelled with frustration.

Billy was panting, voice soft and low and dangerous, sending Steve straight to the breathless impact of his back hitting the basketball court, the pavement, wooden floors covered in shards of ceramic.

“Tell me.”

His blood was singing, a rush he could usually only get by slamming monsters into the next county like some horror show Babe Ruth. Billy growled into his back and Steve’s dick jumped in his hand, heart rate hitting a fever pitch.

“Yes. I’m gonna. Oh, fuck, Billy, please!”

Billy groaned like he was the one coming, jolting into motion and picking up speed as he pressed his forehead into Steve’s shoulders, lips moving against his sweat-slick skin.

“That’s it, come for me, pretty boy. Let me hear it, don’t be shy.”

Steve didn’t know how he could be worried about hearing it when he was probably going to get complaints from the neighbors.

His jaw dropped open in a scream as he spurted over Billy’s fingers, clenching down hard around his cock. Rough fingers kept rubbing and tugging him through it until Steve had to rip them away with a manly whimper, their hands tangling together as Billy came with a shout, pushing into Steve so hard that his head bumped the headboard.

He tugged Steve back by the hips as he pulled out, sticky hand rubbing over the sore spot on Steve’s skull in a move that might have been sweet if he hadn’t also been rubbing cum into his hair.

Asshole.

He shoved his hand away as Billy laughed and flopped down onto the mattress, tying the condom off and dropping it off the side of the bed like a barbarian.

Steve rolled onto his back, one hand pressed to his heaving chest as he caught his breath, limbs splayed and legs brushing against Billy’s on the bed.

His skin was buzzing, mind blissfully blank as their slowing breaths filled the apartment.

He turned his head to find Billy watching him with an unreadable expression, sweat dotting his forehead and matting his hair in tight curls around his face.

Steve couldn’t help it, he wasn’t thinking. He’d left his brain somewhere in the wet spot spreading across his Ralph Lauren sheets.

Billy just looked so good, lying there in his bed, blue eyes focused intently on Steve’s blissed-out face.

Steve rolled over, scooting onto his side and getting closer to Billy, whose eyes widened like prey, dropping to Steve’s lips before jumping back up to his eyes.

Steve closed his eyes and leaned in, Billy’s breath ghosting over his lips just once before he was gone, mattress bouncing as he got out of bed.

Steve blinked up at him stupidly, unable to do the math on his own.

Billy’s back was turned, muscles stretching beneath his scars as he stooped to pick up the condom and headed back toward the bathroom, never once looking at Steve.

“I don’t kiss clients, not on the mouth. Too personal, you know? Gotta keep shit professional.”

Steve pulled a wad of the sheets up over his groin, suddenly feeling entirely too naked, pushing to sit up against the headboard.

“Oh. No, yeah, of course. That’s fine. Sorry if I, um, overstepped.”

Billy paused in the doorway, fingers wrapped so tight around the jamb that his knuckles shone white against his golden skin. He spoke over his shoulder, head only turned enough for Steve to catch his profile, limned with the soft glow of light from over the sink.

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t do it again.”

Steve muttered an agreement, wondering if Billy could even hear him as he shut the door, shower cutting back on after a few seconds.

It was no big deal. Made sense, in a way. Something for Billy to distinguish his working and personal life. Steve could understand.

That’s what he told himself as he sat and struggled though the phantom sensation of having the wind knocked out of him.

It didn’t matter, that for a moment he had gotten so lost in Billy that he let himself think it was real. That it had felt real, down to the very center of him.

It was all just bullshit, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t worry, gang. They can’t be idiots forever.
> 
> So, yeah, I upped the chapter count. Still not sorry.


	5. To keep me warm when the cold winds blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy considered him, twirling his toothpick around with his tongue. Where did he even get that? There weren’t any in the apartment. Steve had never known someone more determined to put shit in their mouth than Billy. There was a word for that, like oral fixed station, or something. Fuck if he could remember.   
> Whatever, it was stupid-hot and kind of gross. Which was pretty much Billy’s whole thing.   
> Steve should probably examine why he was so very, very into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahoy, ladies.

Steve adjusted his tie in the mirror beside his bedroom door, smoothing the silk down beneath the line of his navy suit jacket.

“So I’ll be back around six, a little earlier if I can get away.”

Billy groaned, pulling a pillow over his head. Soft-edged sunlight caught on the light blond hairs covering his legs, glowing like a full-body halo.

The morning sun revealed details Steve had missed. Things like a fading bruise gone yellow pressed in the vague shape of a man’s boot on his lower back. Raw knuckles, split skin healing on his right hand. A drying spot of drool on the pillowcase beside him.

Billy was a disaster, and Steve had never seen someone so beautiful.

He supposed that meant Steve was the disaster, here, really.

He turned away from the mirror, poking Billy on the sole of his foot. He flinched away, toes curling protectively and Steve filed away the notion that Billy Hargrove might be a teensy bit ticklish.

“You know you’re not like, a prisoner here. You can come and go wherever you want. I left you some money on the table in case you wanted to go shopping or something. There’s a key, too.”

He sputtered as Billy’s pillow hit him in the face, Billy sitting up to sling his arm around his knee, gaping at Steve.

“Are you stupid?”

And oh, that prodded certain sore parts of Steve that he tried to keep covered up. His least favorite word. It echoed like his father’s voice in the hollow of his chest. He focused on buttoning his jacket, fussing with his cufflinks in the mirror.

A second pillow caught him at the knee.

“You are! You’re a fucking idiot, Harrington. You picked me up off the goddamned street and you’re giving me keys to the penthouse?”

Steve turned and planted his hands on his hips. Billy was watching him with narrowed eyes, uncaring that the sheets had slipped down to pool beneath the crest of his hipbones, morning wood poking up with unbridled optimism.

Steve was having a little trouble keeping the thread of the conversation.

“It’s not a penthouse, dipshit. We’re only on the twelfth floor.”

Billy nodded sarcastically, stroking his chin as if in thought. Steve fantasized about slapping him on the back of the head. With his shoe.

“Wow. Well, in that case, sure. Yeah, pass out keys to every cocksucker on the docks. That’s a great plan. Hey, you know what? I just figured out why your hair has such good height, man. It’s the rising smoke from your tiny fucking brain spinning it’s wheels and getting absolutely nowhere!”

Steve’s tiny fucking brain latched onto the fact that Billy thought he had great volume and ignored everything else. Good job, brain. Keep up the good work.

Steve laughed at the ground, chewing on his cheek as he stomped down on the old familiar ache of his intellectual shortcomings.

“Real funny, asshole. Whatever. You can do what you want with your day, I just need you back here before I get home.”

Billy’s face twisted in a saccharine pout, eyelashes batting in Steve’s direction like he knew exactly the kind of damage he could do with those.

“Should I strap on my apron and have dinner on the table, dear?”

Steve’s laugh was real this time, bubbling up from his belly and tickling his lips like champagne. Billy smiled in response, smaller and softer than Steve was used to seeing on his face.

Steve aimed finger guns at him, laughing harder at Billy’s visible disgust with the gesture.

“Fuck yeah, babe, sounds hot. Take some polaroids of the cute little bow over your ass for me.”

He checked his watch, wincing at the time. He was gonna catch shit from his secretary if he didn’t get a move on, and Marge was scary in the morning.

“Aw man, I gotta go. See you later, Hargrove.”

Billy shouted at his back as he walked out of the apartment, snagging his briefcase from the hook by the door.

“Hey! How much do you think I could get for that fucking spaceage VCR, dumbass? I’ll be sure to let you know, okay, Harrington? Show you my receipt!”

He cupped his hands around his mouth so Steve heard his obnoxious shouting all the way into the hallway.

Steve couldn’t stop smiling the entire drive to his building. Couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day, just thinking about the fact that, for once, he had somebody to come home to. And that somebody was Billy fucking Hargrove.

The weekend had passed in a blur of sex and, shockingly, laughter. Billy was funny when he wasn’t being an asshole. And sometimes funny when he was being an asshole. Steve had never known.

Marge asked him if he had finally filled that prescription for Valium and he just smiled down at her until she slapped the quarterly reports on his desk and stomped away in a cloud of distaste and Chanel No. 5.

Steve found himself singing along to the radio on the drive home, tossing his hair around with wild abandon along with Madonna. He laughed to himself as he imagined Billy’s disgusted face if Steve were to subject him to his mixtapes.

It would absolutely be worth the judgement.

He was still whistling the chorus for “Like a Prayer” when he slid his keys in the door, freezing with his hand on the doorknob.

What if Billy wasn’t there? What if he really had sold Steve’s junk and taken off? Steve couldn’t give a shit about his stuff, but if he opened the door to an empty apartment he didn’t know what he would do with himself.

He closed his eyes like a child making a wish as he pushed the door wide, holding his breath as he peeked one eye open.

The breath rushed out of him on a noisy exhale when he saw Billy dutifully waiting for him.

Or, as dutifully as Billy ever did anything, face petulant with boredom.

Christ, the relief of it felt like a drug, Steve was floating a foot above the ground.

He hung up his briefcase and coat before approaching Billy where he lay sprawled out along the leather couch, dirty boots propped on the arm. He hung his head upside down over the side to look at Steve, toothpick wagging from the side of his mouth.

“Scoped out some pawn shops today, trying to find where to get the best price for all your shit. Probably gonna have to hit three or four to make it worth my while.”

Steve walked over to the TV, patting it on the top like a beloved puppy’s head.

“Cool. Don’t take less than half a grand for the TV, wouldn’t want you getting ripped off.”

Billy considered him, twirling his toothpick around with his tongue. Where did he even get that? There weren’t any in the apartment. Steve had never known someone more determined to put shit in their mouth than Billy. There was a word for that, like oral fixed station, or something. Fuck if he could remember.

Whatever, it was stupid-hot and kind of gross. Which was pretty much Billy’s whole thing.

Steve should probably examine why he was so very, very into it.

Billy swung his legs around to sit up, knees open wide and arms slung over the back of the couch. He was wearing another band shirt, Alice Cooper staring menacingly up at Steve through black-rimmed eyes.

“Picked up some beer and shit down at the seven-eleven. All you had here was soda and fucking Perrier. What the fuck, Harrington? Are you a sixty year old woman?”

Steve’s eyes slid to the refrigerator, oversized monstrosity looming over the kitchen like a threat.

His feet hit the ground with an impact that jarred his joints, good mood evaporating. He pulled his tie loose as he walked to the bedroom.

“You can buy whatever you want, I don’t give a fuck. I’m taking a shower.”

Billy shouted after him, craning his head over the back of the couch to smirk around his disgusting toothpick.

“Are you asking for company or just giving me the highlights of your boring-ass day, dipshit?”

Steve let the hot water wash away his tension, standing under the spray for longer than he needed to, the white noise of rushing water as soothing as the heat.

He slid into some soft linen trousers and an old polo shirt, faded baby pink from the wash, padding out into the living room to find that Billy had vacated the couch.

Something smelled amazing. Steve followed his nose into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of Billy wearing red gingham oven mitts as he glared down at the range.

“What’s that?”

Billy gave him a glance that was almost sheepish before turning back to watch the oven door like it had insulted his mother. The toothpick had disappeared.

“Lasagna. It’s not ready yet. You came back early, asshole. You said six, and now my timing’s off.”

Steve knew he looked dumb, standing there and practically scratching his head like a poster boy of confusion.

“You bought a frozen lasagna?”

Now Billy looked at Steve like he had insulted his mother, pointing at him with one of his oven mitts. Steve bit back a shocked giggle.

“No, dumbass. I didn’t buy a fucking frozen lasagna. That stuff’s terrible for you, full of sodium and junk. You don’t eat that shit, do you? Tell me you don’t eat that shit, Harrington.”

Steve guessed that Billy hadn’t looked in the freezer yet and found the stack of Hungry Man single dinners for sadsacks Steve kept around for lazy weekdays.

“Yeah, no, sodium. Shit’s terrible.”

Billy squinted at him suspiciously, Steve widening his eyes in his best ’who, me?’ expression of innocence. Billy didn’t seem to be buying it, pointing a mitt at him again and mouth dropping open before they both jumped at the metallic trill of the kitchen timer.

Billy opened the oven to unleash a wave of that heavenly smell in a puff of steam, turning his head away as he reached in with his mitts and pulled out a fucking casserole dish. He set it gently on the stovetop, peering down at the melted cheese on top critically.

Steve poked his index finger at the cheese, yelping when Billy slapped his hand way with a muted thwap of his mitt.

“It’s fucking hot, asswipe. Did you not just see me take it out of a 400 degree oven? Christ, you’re a fucking liability.”

Steve shook his hand, looking longingly down at the top of the lasagna. It looked and smelled like something from a restaurant.

If Billy wasn’t standing there Steve would have absolutely burnt his entire mouth by now. The lasagna smelled worth it.

He watched Billy take off his mitts, stashing them in a drawer before shouldering past Steve to flop back down on the couch.

Steve followed, taking the lone chair and propping his feet on the coffee table.

“You got the stuff to make a lasagna at the seven-eleven?”

Billy rolled his eyes, knocking Steve’s feet onto the floor as his boots took their place.

“No, dipshit. I went to the supermarket, picked up a couple things.”

Steve may not be the worlds best cook, but he knew that making a lasagna required more than a couple things. His mind reeled at the image of Billy pushing a cart through the supermarket, checking for the best produce alongside middle aged housewives.

Drumming up business, more likely.

He edged his feet back on the table, nudging them up against Billy’s boots, which actually shuffled to make the tiniest amount of room for him.

“You know I wasn’t serious about that having dinner on the table by six bullshit, right?”

Billy laughed, head thrown back against the cushion. He swiped one hand over his face like he wanted to wipe away his smile.

“If you were, I wouldn’t have done it. I just wanted to make something substantial for once. You got any idea how long it’s been since I had access to a full kitchen, man?”

And, no. Steve had no idea. It could have been the entire four years since his death, for all Steve knew.

“How long has it been?”

Billy sat up straight, cutting his eyes over to Steve like he only just then realized what they were saying.

“Long enough. I made a salad to go with it, so we don’t die of fucking scurvy. You literally did not have a single vegetable in the apartment. And, no, Harrington, canned corn does not count as a vegetable.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck as he felt embarrassed heat creep up his collar.

“Yeah, I know. I usually just get takeout. Too much trouble to cook for one, I guess.”

Billy groaned, leaning an elbow on the arm of the couch to prop up his chin, which must have been heavy under the weight of all that judgement.

“Poor little princess. What, did you spend all of your private chef money on hookers and blow?”

Steve shook his head with a dry laugh, refusing to wither under Billy’s stare.

“Actually, no. I don’t touch cocaine and I had never hired out for sex until last weekend when you fell out of my dreams and into my car. To be honest, man, I’m still not entirely convinced that you’re not a hallucination.”

Billy looked stricken, face pale and eyes tense before something passed across his face and left a sleazy grin behind.

His eyes fell to half mast, thumb grazing across his lower lip as he looked Steve up and down.

“You been dreaming about me, pretty boy?”

Steve really did not want to talk about that. That was cutting too close to fields of daisies, take-it-to-your-grave territory.

The other thing, though.

“Yeah, you know what? I have. For a while now. Sometimes they’re good dreams, and sometimes they’re not so good. Can we? Do you think we could maybe talk about how you’re here right now?”

Billy’s smirk washed away like newsprint in the rain, face stark without it.

“What the fuck do you care? I’m here, I suck your dick whenever you want. You pay me for it. End of story.”

Steve knew, deep down in his bones, that it would be a bad idea to make any sudden movements. He knew it the same way he always knew things, without thought or hesitation.

Instead, he slowly slid his feet off of the table so he could sit up and look into Billy’s eyes, pitching his voice soft and low and non-threatening.

“Yeah, but. C’mon, man. You died. I was there.”

Billy’s mask slipped, surprise and confusion wrinkling his forehead and pinching the corners of his eyes. He sounded young and unsure and a whole host of hurt little things that Billy should never sound.

“You were?”

Steve didn’t know how to approach this so he just plowed forward with the truth in the blind hope that he was doing the right thing.

“Yup. I, um, kind of hit you with a car?”

Like it was a question. Like it wasn’t something that Steve had sat up in bed with the weight of his guilt crushing his rib cage at the sudden realization that while Steve had been aiming at the monster, he had only managed to hit Billy.

Billy rubbed both hands over his face, pulling his own feet off the table to curl in on himself on the couch.

“Shit. Well, my memory is pretty patchy for basically that whole summer and the rest of the year. I only get bits and pieces and the ones I remember I don’t want to look at too closely, you know? The stuff I do remember tells me that I don’t want to remember any more. It’s all bad shit. I did some real bad shit, man.”

The slight tremor in his voice set off an echoing avalanche in Steve’s chest, swallowing down the lump in his throat to let the truth push through.

“I get that, I do. Christ, I’m sorry we couldn’t save you. Sorry we didn’t do more to try.”

Billy just looked at him with such blank confusion that Steve’s heart sank into the floor, beating feebly against cold tile. Billy looked at him like he couldn’t comprehend what Steve was saying, like no one had ever said anything like that to him before.

“Why the fuck would you have wanted to? I’m an asshole.”

Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He reached across the divide, Billy flinching away even as he moved like he was crawling through molasses, laying his hand on Billy’s arm.

“You didn’t deserve what happened to you.”

Billy exploded off the couch, shaking Steve’s hand away and retreating to the other side, shoulders set and fists clenched like Steve had taken a swing at him.

“We’re done talking about this, Harrington.”

Steve got to his feet, taking deep breaths to try and stop the rush of adrenaline that was only going to leave him even more stupid and result in a broken nose for him and sore knuckles for Billy.

“No, we’re fucking not. Just tell me how you’re here right now, alive and cooking goddamned lasagna in my apartment. I feel like I’m sleeping with a ghost, Billy!”

The fight slumped out of Billy’s shoulders all at once, light dimming in his eyes as he slipped shaking hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t exactly a laugh riot, dying like that.”

Just the word ’dying’ from Billy’s lips felt like a punch in the gut, the air rushing out of Steve’s lungs on a shaky exhale.

“So, what? You were, you were really dead?”

Billy looked over Steve’s shoulder, eyes far away as he hugged his arms tightly to his sides.

“That’s what they told me, back at the facility. I was technically dead on arrival. Thought they hit the jackpot with me, perfect specimen for research. But something happened, when they were extracting the fucking monster juice out of me.”

Steve leaned forward, the old familiar spark of curiosity flaring into a wildfire, but Billy seemed to have stopped talking, staring up at the ceiling like something disturbing was written there. Something that made him sick to his stomach.

“What? What happened?”

Billy’s right shoulder kicked up in half a shrug, like it didn’t matter. Like Steve wasn’t going to spend countless sleepless nights poring over every word of this conversation trying to piece the puzzle together. Like every terrible thing that had happened to Billy just didn’t matter.

“Dunno. Guess I was still kicking around in this bag of bones after all. Came up swinging. Still not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

Steve started to round the couch, stopping as Billy took a hasty step back at his approach. He held his arms out like, what? Like Billy was going to come running in for a hug? He didn’t know, but, god, if Billy let him, he would just hold him for a while.

“It is, of course it is, Billy.”

Billy’s head tipped back on a laugh that was ugly and cold and sent shivers down Steve’s spine like a fall night in Indiana in the Byers’ driveway. Billy gave him a dirty once-over, smirk firmly back in place.

“Yeah? Who’d suck your dick if I wasn’t around, huh?”

Steve’s hands fell to his sides with a defeated smack, shaking his head in denial.

“You know that’s not why.”

Billy turned away, bootheels loud against the tile as he stalked over to the balcony doors, wrenching them open and letting a howling gust of frigid wind enter the apartment.

“Jesus Christ, I need a smoke. Set the goddamned table, the lasagna’s getting cold, shitstain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter. This whole mess is a smut-angst sandwich.


	6. Are you the answer? I shouldn’t wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve didn’t know enough about lifting weights to know exactly what he was doing, but he knew enough about himself to know that he never wanted Billy to stop doing it.
> 
> His shoulders and arms were exposed, muscles bulging and shining with sweat as he groaned and lifted the weights up into his chest over and over again.
> 
> Billy was wearing a ripped white tee shirt, sleeves hacked off and savagely torn down each side all the way to the waist, baring the rippling muscle over his ribs and the scars on his side. 
> 
> He looked delicious. He looked-
> 
> “Hey! That’s my shirt, asshole!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, y’all. I wasn’t kidding about that Billy Hargrove Being Gross tag. Steve’s pretty gross, too. I told y’all we were going to Heck and here we are.  
> Nothing but smut.

It was syrupy slow, but by the end of the week Steve finally felt like Billy was starting to move in to the apartment. Just a little bit at a time.

It was not unlike that week in middle school he had spent trying to coax a feral cat out from under his porch back at home, happy to have some company the first time his parents were gone for a month and he didn’t have a babysitter. Slow and halting with a constant danger of every outstretched hand being bitten.

Steve came home from work on Tuesday to find the entire apartment clean, soda cans and magazines cleared away. There were even vacuum tracks on both bedroom carpets. He tried to explain that the maid came every other Thursday and got his head bitten off for being willing to live like a pig until then.

He started leaving the empty drawers open, making an offhand comment that they were free if Billy wanted to use them. Two days later the drawers were shut and the trash bag was nowhere to be seen.

He left spending money out on the table every morning next to Billy’s key, and every evening it was gone.

He picked up a cookbook during his lunch hour and left it under Billy’s key and the next night he came home to homemade coq a vin and the slowest, sloppiest blowjob of his entire life.

Steve started picking up gifts on his way home, little things.

Stupid stuff like a candy bar (”No one likes nougat, Harrington!”), and a comic book (”Bet you don’t read anything without pictures, huh, princess?”), and a stainless steel ink pen engraved with ’the pen is mightier’ with the spacing jacked up between ’pen’ and ’is’ (”Holy shit, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen! Please tell me you use this in fucking meetings, man!”), just dumb stuff like that.

And then things started showing up at the apartment. Things Steve didn’t buy. Things like the Scorpions’ newest album on cassette and a dish rack and a hefty set of free weights that took up residence in the empty space between the TV and the doors out to the balcony.

Steve had been eyeing that set, waiting impatiently to see Billy use it but he never did. They were neatly in place every time he came home in the evening. Taunting him.

Which was why he was struck dumb when he got out of the shower after sleeping in Saturday morning, dressed for the day, and walked out to find Billy pumping iron in the living room, the Scorpions screaming in the background.

Holy fuck. Just. Holy fucking fuck.

He was facing away from Steve, looking out the French doors to the balcony, Venetian blinds pulled all the way back to let the sunshine in.

Steve didn’t know enough about lifting weights to know exactly what he was doing, but he knew enough about himself to know that he never wanted Billy to stop doing it.

His shoulders and arms were exposed, muscles bulging and shining with sweat as he groaned and lifted the weights up into his chest over and over again.

Billy was wearing a ripped white tee shirt, sleeves hacked off and savagely torn down each side all the way to the waist, baring the rippling muscle over his ribs and the scars on his side.

He looked delicious. He looked-

“Hey! That’s my shirt, asshole!”

Steve couldn’t believe it when Billy dropped his weights into the rack with an obnoxious grunt only to turn around and put Hall and Oates right in Steve’s face with a smug grin.

“I needed something to work out in. Didn’t want to mess up anything nice.”

He hooked his thumbs in the hem of the shirt, stretching out the band’s clean smiling faces in Steve’s direction.

“So this was perfect.”

Steve’s arms flailed expressively before landing on his hips, frowning hard as Billy’s face just grew more and more gleeful.

“What the fuck? You don’t even like Hall and Oates!”

Billy had the nerve to laugh, smoothing his hand over the front of Steve’s destroyed shirt until sweat started soaking through in dark patches. Steve was in no way affected by the way this highlighted the cut of his torso. He didn’t even notice the drop of perspiration crawling lazily down the hollow of his throat like an invitation to lick just there.

“Yeah, no shit I don’t like Hall and Oates. I like music, princess. Not easy-listening bubblegum atrophy-your-brain bullshit.”

All of this said while the fucking Scorpions wailed in the background. Steve walked over to the stereo and punched it off.

Steve wanted to smack that pleased look off his face. He wanted to tackle him to the ground and rip off the remaining shreds of his shirt and bite his jaw and lick the sweat off his abs and. Fuck. He was so pissed off that he was hard in his pants.

“Then why. The fuck. Did you take my only Hall and Oates shirt?”

Billy shrugged, lifting his arm and sniffing at his armpit like a caveman, not even bothering to look away from Steve while he did it. Steve could smell him from across the room, clean sweat and exertion and Billy. It was disgusting. He kind of wanted to roll in it.

“I wanted to see if you would throw a bitch-fit. And you did not disappoint, Harrington.”

He made the effort to walk the long way around the couch, shoulder checking Steve before heading back toward the bedroom. He was so sweaty that his shoulder left a small damp patch on Steve’s starched shirt. His scent was even stronger up close, saturating Steve’s lungs and clinging to his throat.

“I fucking reek. Time to hit the showers.”

He turned at the entrance to the hallway, throwing his hands up to hold onto the trim around the open arch, showing off the muscles of his shoulders and the tight vee of his torso. Steve had to check that his mouth was closed tight against the threat of drool.

“You coming, pretty boy?”

Steve’s clothes came off so fast they whistled through the air in a cartoon dust cloud, landing haphazardly all over the room as he followed after Billy like the floor was on fire.

Billy was in no hurry, reaching the bathroom in lazy strides, only just leaning into the shower to turn it on when Steve careened into his back, skin sticking together at the exposed edges of his ripped shirt.

He covered Billy’s hand on the lever, squeezing hard. Billy froze with a sharp inhale Steve would have missed if the water had already been on. Steve bit him on the shoulder, cotton rough under his tongue.

“No.”

Billy turned around slowly, eyes glowing like the blue center of a flame.

“You want me dirty, princess? All fucking sweaty and gross? That’s downright filthy, Harrington.”

His hands slipped around to cup Steve’s ass, fingers digging in. He was hard in his shorts, the hot line of him pressed to Steve’s thigh. The contrast of Billy’s humid skin and Steve’s cool dry body sent goosebumps prickling all over his arms and legs.

Billy must have felt it, hands gripping harder and teeth flashing before dragging down the length of Steve’s throat, tightening around the jut of his collarbone with a growl.

“Fucking filthy. Want me to make a mess? Leave you in pieces like your ugly fucking shirt? I’m real good at making messes, baby.”

Steve fisted his hands in the shirt, yanking it up to catch under Billy’s arms as he refused to do anything to help, just watching Steve with rapt attention.

“Shut up, shut up. Oh, my god. Shut up. Take this shit off. Now.”

Billy looked him dead in the eye and grabbed the shirt at the cut-away collar, ripping it into two pieces to hang in shreds around his chest.

“Happy, pretty boy?”

Steve made a noise like an angry bull in an Indiana pasture, tearing the ruined fabric down Billy’s arms to the grating sound of his delighted laughter, leaving scratches on the skin stretched over his hips as he viciously yanked down his shorts.

Billy went fucking commando, because of course he did.

His dick slapped against the damp skin of his stomach with a sound that made Steve cringe as much as it made his mouth water.

He wanted to shove Billy to the ground and ride him until he cried. He wanted to pull his hair and pin his wrists and bite his chest. He wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and-

He dropped to his knees and sucked the musky head of his cock into his mouth, playing with his foreskin with the tip of his tongue as Billy groaned and dragged sticky fingers through his hair.

He tasted the way he smelled, thick and rich and addicting, coating Steve’s tongue and pulling a satisfied moan from his chest.

Billy nudged forward and Steve stopped him with a firm hand on his thigh, nails digging in to the tight muscle of his quads.

“Hold fucking still, asshole. I’m driving.”

Billy made a noise in his throat that twisted Steve’s stomach in knots, kicking up his heart-rate and tightening his balls.

He did it again as Steve slid slowly down his cock, pulling back every inch or so to start all over again at the head in long, torturous strokes.

He started to leak all over Steve’s tongue, deepening the flavor of him and adding to the mess accumulating at the corners of Steve’s mouth.

The tile was cold and hard under Steve’s knees, shifting restlessly on the floor as he started to suck hard, letting the tip of Billy’s cock slip further and further into the back of his throat until he choked and had to come up for air.

Billy was slack-jawed watching him, thumb coming around to break the string of saliva connecting Steve’s lips to the head of his cock with a gentle slideacross Steve’s swollen mouth.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he whispered, voice raw like Steve had been the one pushing at his throat and not the other way around.

Steve sucked his thumb into his mouth, watching his beautiful sex-stupid face as he rolled it in his tongue, dragging his teeth across the knuckle to release it with a pop.

Billy’s breath caught as Steve shoved his cock back down his throat, fighting his gag reflex and winning in a rush of victorious endorphins, flying high as Billy started to tremble with the effort to keep still.

Steve pulled off just to rub his face in the hair at Billy’s groin, not even trying to disguise the way he was sucking in his scent in greedy gulps of air.

“Christ, look at you.”

Billy sounded like Steve had wrapped his hands around his throat and squeezed rather than just mouthing lazily at his balls.

Steve smoothed his hands up and down his legs, settling on his hips to grab tight and start fucking his face down onto Billy’s cock as Billy let loose a string of curses over his head.

Rough hands cupped the base of his skull, helping him maintain his momentum until fingers curled into his hair and pulled him off without warning.

Billy kept pulling until Steve was standing on shaky knees, his eyes going straight to Steve’s fucked-raw lips with nothing short of hunger shining through.

“That’s enough. I’m gonna shoot down your throat if you keep that up, and then I won’t be able to give you what you need. And we both know you need it bad, baby. Fucking begging for it.”

Steve shoved at his chest, sucking down air over rubbed-raw vocal cords as Billy rocked once on his heels and immediately leaned back into Steve’s space, watching him with the fascination of a tiger stalking prey.

Steve was getting distressingly accustomed to the sensation of wanting to smack Billy only a little less than he wanted to fuck him. It was starting to feel, not comfortable, but comforting. Something he could rely on.

“Shut up. If anyone was begging, it was you. You think I couldn’t taste how badly you want me, Billy?”

He gave a tight stroke of Billy’s spit-slick cock from root to tip, gathering precum on his fingertips and bringing them up to smear across his lips while Billy watched in panting anticipation.

Steve made a show out of licking his lips, the way Billy seemed to do all day everyday. Just doing it once made him feel so slutty he couldn’t imagine what that must be like.

Billy grabbed him with a growl, spinning him in place and almost tripping them both to their brain-spattered-tile doom as he shoved Steve into the marble edge of the vanity so hard his hipbones ached from the impact.

His hands slapped down to either side of the sink, watching Billy snarl at him in the reflection of the mirror.

“Cock-tease.”

Steve laughed breathlessly, pushing his ass back against Billy until he rutted helplessly against him. Steve gave him a superior look, dripping frigid upper class disapproval like he wasn’t bent naked over his bathroom sink, letting Billy rub his sweat all over him.

“Animal.”

Billy definitely sounded like one, snarling and snapping his teeth next to Steve’s ear before dropping to his knees behind him.

Steve winced at the crack of his knees against the tile for half a second before all thought left his head in a rush as Billy pried his ass open and started tongue-fucking him with no preamble.

No hi, how are you?No brace yourself, Harrington. Just tongue-fucking, hard and fast and messy until drool started dripping down Steve’s thighs.

He fell down onto his elbows, muffling noises with his fist and yelping as Billy turned his head and bit down on the meat of his ass, teeth pressed in an open smile against his flesh.

Steve reached back and grabbed a fistful of curls, aiming Billy’s mouth back where he wanted it as Billy moaned and took the hint with gusto.

He slowed down to work Steve’s rim with his lips, wet, open-mouthed kisses that made Steve’s heart pound with desire and longing and shit he really didn’t want to think about right now. Shit like imagining the way those kisses might feel someplace else much higher up on his body.

Imagining what it would be like to just sit and kiss Billy, fully clothed, with no expectation of anything more. Coming home from work and straddling him on the couch and just. Kissing.

The thought of it had him aching just as badly as Billy’s tongue in his ass. Christ, Steve was an idiot. Getting everything he asked for and still wanting more. Always wanting things he couldn’t have. Stupid, useless things. Like love.

He pushed Billy away with a flat foot on his chest, watching over his shoulder as Billy tipped over onto his ass with a disgruntled sound. He scrambled to his feet, leaning over Steve’s shoulder to glare at him in the mirror.

“Don’t you fucking dare move, Harrington. I’m not even close to done with you.”

Steve would have had a snappy comeback if he hadn’t choked on the whine sneaking out of his throat without permission. Rude.

Billy disappeared for twenty long seconds, the entirety of which Steve spent actively avoiding contemplating his thoughts. He focused on the thrum of his loose rim and the ache of his cock and the buzz of his abused lips instead. Safer that way.

Billy returned with a naked skid onto the bathroom tiles that was refreshingly uncool, evidently too keyed-up to keep up appearances. Steve laughed even as his chest clenched over how fucking endearing that was. Asshole, making Steve feel things.

The bottle of lube clinked against the counter as Billy dropped it, slick fingers already searching their way inside Steve’s body.

Steve opened his mouth on a moan only to have the crinkle cold foil of a condom wrapper shoved in his mouth. He pushed it out with his tongue on a gag of disgust, narrowing his eyes at Billy’s grinning reflection when it plopped down into the sink basin.

“You’re such a dick, Hargrove.”

Billy just hummed in agreement, working him open steadily with his fingers as he licked over the back of his neck, watching Steve with twinkling eyes.

“Open that for me, would you, princess? I’m kinda busy, here.”

Steve stood up as straight as he could with Billy’s fingers buried to the knuckle, fumbling with the wrapper until tightly rolled latex tumbled out into his palm.

He held it over his shoulder between two fingers the same way Billy had passed him the twenty, smiling as Billy snatched it like he found the gesture just as irritating as Steve did.

Good.

Billy’s fingers slipped away with a cheerful smack to his ass as Billy prepared himself, grabbing the bottle of lube with flattering haste.

He pulled Steve up with a hand against his chest, pressing close to his back, humid skin sliding wherever they touched.

He pressed his cheek to Steve’s ear, catching his eye in the mirror.

“Eyes front, Harrington.”

His teeth caught at the swell of his lower lip as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past Steve’s entrance, a sound hitching in his throat that Steve would have missed if he hadn’t been so close.

He never wanted to miss it again.

Steve’s mouth dropped open as he slid the rest of the way inside, damp thighs pressed tight to the back of Steve’s legs.

He braced Steve’s chest with a strong arm, hand sliding up to cup Steve’s chin as he started to move in slow, deep thrusts that scraped small sounds from the bottom of Steve’s lungs.

His cheek rubbed rough against Steve’s face, eyes like a spotlight on Steve’s reflection. His voice was soft and low, emphatic in that way that Billy got when he wanted to be listened to. To be obeyed. It made something spark and writhe in Steve’s belly just to hear it.

“Look at yourself.”

Steve threw an elbow into his gut at half force, receiving a grunt and tighter grip on his chin in return.

“Fuck off, I know how I look, okay?”

Stupid. He looked stupid. Steve had never seen his own sex face before but it was safe to say, stupid.

And wasn’t it just like Billy to take this opportunity to point that out?

Billy wasn’t laughing, though, face set in stubborn lines and gaze never wavering from Steve’s face. He hit a rhythm with his hips, deep and measured and harder on the third stroke. Every now and then he’d brush across Steve’s prostate and make him shiver and cry out.

His other hand came around to grab and tilt Steve’s hips forward in tiny increments until, holy shit, he was rubbing right up against it every single time.

Steve’s face spasmed in a shock of pleasure, mouth slack and brow furrowed.

Billy dragged his lips across his ear, whispering directly into the shell as he watched Steve jolt and keen in the mirror.

“You got no idea, baby. So fucking pretty. Don’t look away. I want you to watch.”

Steve shook his head but he didn’t look away, glued to the sight of Billy’s face tight with concentration, a deep line appearing between his eyebrows as he worked Steve’s body like a fine-tuned machine. His bitten-red lips puffed open with every harsh breath, blowing across the sensitive edge of Steve’s ear.

“I know you like to watch. You liked watching me work out, didn’t you? I swear you got so wet for me I could fucking smell it. Love the way you smell, princess. Like sex and champagne.”

God, he was so gross. Why did that make him weak in the knees?

Steve shook his head again, gasping as Billy released his chin, pulling away from his ear.

“Put your hands on the glass.”

Steve tried to look back over his shoulder but Billy crowded behind him, shoving him forward at base of his neck.

“Do it.”

And Steve could follow directions. He was a team player, okay?

He put his hands on the glass, fingers fanning out as he was forced to lean forward a little just to reach.

The change in angle brought Billy’s cock knocking even harder against his sweet spot, triggering a flood of embarrassing noises from Steve’s open mouth.

Billy didn’t look embarrassed. He looked fucking elated, eyes sparking as Steve followed directions.

“So good for me, pretty boy.”

Steve didn’t want to watch himself, so he watched Billy, taking in the way his expression only grew in intensity as he moved his body, lips and tongue in constant, restless motion as his eyes stayed steady on Steve’s reflection.

He was gorgeous.

Why had they never fucked face to face before? Look at all the great shit Steve had been missing out on. Like the scrunch of Billy’s brow when he bottomed out and the slight quiver of his lips on a shaky moan and the way his eyes grew warm and soft on Steve’s face when he arched and cried out under him, crinkling at the corners with something deeper than lust.

Oh.

Fuck.

Now Steve was motivated to watch his own face, laid bare by the frantic joining of their bodies, shields down and pretense abandoned.

He was a wreck, almost as sweaty now as Billy had been when they started, hair clinging to his face in dark clumps. His lips were parted, tongue practically lolling out as he panted and moaned in time with Billy’s thrusts.

Billy leaned forward to lick and nip at Steve’s shoulder at the same time that he brought his hand up to brush teasingly across his nipple and Steve just. Melted.

It was right there in his face, every flash of yearning, every repressed thought about kissing Billy until their lips were numb. Every guilty fantasy about this being real, about making this real. About keeping Billy in his apartment and his bed and his life.

Steve’s face was all naked longing, lost in the touch and taste and scent of Billy. Drunk on the feel of him. Far gone and entirely, unfailingly honest.

It was terrifying.

He tried to reel it back, cover it up, twist his face and voice into molds he’d seen in pornos, empty and loud.

Billy’s eyes narrowed at the change, suspicion clouding his face, and this.

This was why they didn’t fuck face to face.

Steve was an idiot.

He was going to ruin everything, clinging too hard too quickly like he always did, until Billy was a trapped fox chewing his own foot off to get away.

He dropped his head, letting it hang down between his shoulders as he shoved his hips back to meet Billy’s, faster and faster, forcing him to pick up speed, really committing to the porno angle with a calculated, sexy drawl.

“Yeah, fuck me harder. C’mon, don’t be a pussy.”

And Billy just. Stopped.

Sucked in a hard, painful breath like Steve had just slapped him in the face, hips grinding to a halt.

Steve lifted his face to find Billy watching him with red-rimmed eyes, mouth a harsh underscoring line.

“Don’t call me that.”

Steve stuttered out an apology but it was lost under Billy’s growl as he shove Steve over, pressing his face against the mirror in between his hands, fingers curved in an iron grip around the nape of his neck.

“I was gonna be nice, sweetheart. Treat you right. But if you’re gonna act like a bitch, you’re gonna get treated like one.”

The glass was cold and smooth against his skin, fogging up with the noise of protest he made as Billy adjusted his grip and held him down even harder.

He started to snap his hips in rough, punishing thrusts, so hard that Steve’s heels lifted from the ground with every impact.

“What did you like about watching me, huh? Did you like my muscles, like how strong I am, like knowing I can hold you down? I know you did, baby. But I don’t think that’s all. I think you like the way I smell, too. I think you were leaking in your Levi’s because I fucking stink. I think you’re the animal, here, princess.”

Steve tried to throw an elbow again, Billy catching his arm and slapping his hand back on the glass with an angry grunt.

“Fuck you.”

It would have been more impressive if Steve hadn’t had to squeak the wordsaround a breathy moan as Billy jackhammered his sweet spot.

Billy leaned down to whisper harshly in his ear, reflection so close that Steve’s eyes crossed.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend with me. I see you, baby. I know what you need. Stop fighting and let me give it to you.”

The fear of that, of Billy looking at Steve and really seeing him, seeing the truth sent a spike of adrenaline coursing through his veins and suddenly Steve was painfully close.

He fumbled a hand under the counter, jerking his aching cock and moaning with relief. He was so wet at the tip that it dripped down his shaft, slicking his fingers as they worked faster and faster.

He shouted as Billy reached down and slapped his hand away, grabbing his wrist and bringing it back up to the mirror, smearing precum on the glass next to Steve’s face.

“No. I don’t think so, sweetheart. I think you’re gonna come on my cock, or you’re not gonna come at all.”

Steve jerked his hips, trying and failing to get some friction on his cock. He was so close, shit.

He shoved back against Billy’s restraining hand with a frustrated grunt.

“I can’t. I’ve never. C’mon, Billy! I can’t!”

Billy let him up just enough to watch his face in the mirror, sharp teeth gleaming.

“See, I think you can, princess. I think nobody’s ever given you what you need before. I think I’m gonna be the one to do it. Just. Watch.”

His hand loosened around Steve’s nape, the other hand coming back up to pinch and roll his nipples in little shivers of sensation like they were tugging on tiny strings connected to his cock, pulling in time with Billy’s thrusts.

Steve let his head fall back, resting on Billy’s shoulder as he watched him, curls tight and dark with sweat, eyes half-lidded and trained on Steve’s face.

Beautiful. He was so beautiful it hurt.

Billy’s face startled, eyes flying open and lips parting and oh, shit, Steve must have said that out loud.

No point in denying it, it was too late to hide. It was right there on his face for Billy to see, every ounce of longing darkening Steve’s shining eyes.

So he did what he always did in the face of danger, push fucking through.

“You are. You’re beautiful, Billy. Love looking at you. Love feeling your skin, feeling you inside me,” Billy’s breath hitched on a moan, laser-focused on Steve’s naked face, “And yeah, fuck. Okay. I love the way you smell, all deep and dark. Love the way you taste. Billy, I love-”

Billy’s hand came up to cover Steve’s mouth, fingers shaking just enough for Steve to feel it. He kissed them, pouring his desire through his lips, licking the salt from Billy’s skin.

Billy was getting loud, moaning against Steve’s shoulder as he pushed all the way inside him on every thrust.

He let go of Steve’s mouth, dropping his hand beneath them to fondle his balls, brushing one teasing finger down the length of his cock before pressing hard against his taint.

Steve arched and yelled like he’d been struck by lightning, Billy holding him steady with a hand on his chest, right over his pounding heart.

He began to rub deep, tight circles there, pressing Steve between his fingers and his cock and Steve started to feel that familiar tingle in the base of his spine, building past the point of no return.

“Oh, my god. Oh, my god, Billy! Fuck!”

Billy’s face was tucked behind his shoulder so he could reach down, but Steve could feel his smile against his skin.

“Yeah? Show me, gorgeous. Come on my cock.”

Steve was so close, so close, just couldn’t seem to tip over the edge. He whined and covered Billy’s hand on his chest and Billy brushed the softest, sweetest kiss across the nape of his neck and oh, shit, he was coming.

Billy straightened up to fuck him through it, pressing kisses all over his neck as Steve screamed and writhed against him, untouched cock spilling all over the cabinets.

“Perfect, baby. Oh, sweetheart, just look at yourself.”

Steve didn’t have much interest in his own fucked-out face, but Billy’s.

Holy shit, Billy’s face.

He was glowing with sweat and satisfaction as he looked at Steve with soft, triumphant eyes.

Steve laced their fingers together on his chest, holding tight as Billy tried to slip away, startled expression fleeting across his face.

He turned his head to whisper in Billy’s ear, taking a page out of his playbook even as he clenched down around his cock.

“Give it to me, Billy. Take what you need. Wanna feel it.”

Billy choked back a whine in his throat, covering it up with a low growl as he snapped his hips faster and harder, eyes locked on Steve’s face.

Steve pulled his other hand up, keeping hold of the one on his chest as he pressed Billy’s fingers to his mouth, making a show of licking a stripe up from the thundering pulse in his wrist to the tip of his middle finger before sucking it down.

Billy’s cock jerked in the clench of Steve’s body, hips frenzied and fingers digging in to his chest as he came with a groan pressed to the side of Steve’s neck, tongue curling out of his mouth to lap the sweat from Steve’s skin.

Beautiful.

Steve couldn’t catch his breath, heart still hammering as Billy nosed the damp hair at his nape and pulled out with a sigh, disposing of the condom.

He collapsed against the counter, letting his head rest on his hands over the sink while Billy turned the shower back on behind him.

He waited for the sound of the glass door clicking shut, jumping as strong hands curled around his waist, pulling him to stand.

“Let’s go, pretty boy. Time to get you cleaned up.”

And then Billy was manhandling him into the shower, holding him under the spray and letting him slump over his shoulder, bellies sliding together and soft cocks brushing.

It was warm and amazing and so fucking close to everything Steve wanted that it hurt.

Soapy fingers carded through his hair, scratching at his scalp and suddenly Steve was fighting tears, fumbling for the shampoo to return the favor, grateful for the water running over his face.

Billy’s face tipped up into the spray, lather rinsing down his body to catch in the ridges of his muscles and scars and Steve tried to take a picture with his mind.

This was exactly what he would miss whenever Billy left. Just this, just being together, warm and quiet and near.

Billy’s eyes opened, clear blue and sparkling with satisfaction and, okay, that too.

His hands ran softly down Steve’s stomach, spreading soap in little circles and laughing loud as Steve flinched away when he tickled up his side.

And, fuck. Steve was an idiot.

This was far more dangerous than fighting monsters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, my toddler’s rocking horse has a curly mane and I named him Holland Oats.  
> Yeah, I write this garbage during nap time. Straight to heck.


	7. I get nightmares I hate to sleep alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy shifted, slow and quiet on the bed, until the warm solid length of his leg pressed lightly against Steve’s side. An undemanding reminder of his presence. 
> 
> Steve jumped when he spoke, even though he pitched his voice low, barely reaching the distance between them.
> 
> “Tell me what you need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s a shitload of hurt/comfort smut for y’all. Heavy on the smut, which is so my brand.

“...rington? Harrington? Hey. Steve!”

Steve sat up with a gasp, the ghost of his screams leaving claw marks down the lining of his throat.

“Sorry. Sorry. Oh, shit. I’m sorry, man.”

He sounded like a sleepy bullfrog.

His head swiveled around the room, checking every brightly lit corner, ears straining for phantom sounds.

Billy’s hand was on his back, and as Steve started taking ugly, gulping breaths, it started to move. Just slightly, in soft, tiny circles between his shoulder blades.

It hurt, and it didn’t hurt at all, and it felt a little like the way Nancy still curled her fingers into the tops of his shoulders when she hugged him goodbye.

Felt like something just out of reach. Felt like something he didn’t deserve.

He closed his eyes, jerking them open again as afterimages crawled against the dark of his eyelids.

Pressure crested behind his eyes, wet and awful and spilling over to burn down his cheeks.

He lifted his hand to rub it away, but Billy was already there with the sheet, wiping just the wrong side of gently at his face. Like he didn’t know how to do it. Clumsy with inexperience and too firm with sincerity.

Sometimes Steve thought that no one had ever taught Billy how to be gentle, he seemed to swing wide whenever he made the effort. Steve was still floored every time he made the effort anyway.

Steve croaked out another mindless apology, cutting off at the low shushing sound Billy made in reply.

Steve leaned into the hand scrubbing a sheet over his cheek, just a little. He couldn’t help it. Almost a sway more than a lean, really. Barely noticeable. He hoped.

Billy let the sheet fall away, his palm rasping warm and wonderful over Steve’s sparse midnight stubble. His index finger rested just beneath the corner of Steve’s eye as his broad thumb brushed across the bow of Steve’s lips, just once before slipping away.

The hand at Steve’s back fell away too, winter chill creeping in despite top of the line central heating.

Steve started to shake, teeth-chattering, bone-jangling tremors that only grew worse as he tensed up against them.

He didn’t want Billy to see this, needed him to leave. Get out before he saw what a raw fucking mess Steve was at the very core of him. Get out now before Steve scared him off forever.

If Billy left right now Steve was going to scream and scream and never stop.

Harsh, ugly noises escaped between his teeth as he curled his legs into his chest, clawing at his knees.

Billy shifted, slow and quiet on the bed, until the warm solid length of his leg pressed lightly against Steve’s side. An undemanding reminder of his presence.

Steve jumped when he spoke, even though he pitched his voice low, barely reaching the distance between them.

“Tell me what you need.”

Steve shook his head, clenching his teeth against the chatter. Billy kicked off the sheets, naked and unapologetic as he sat up against the headboard and watched Steve with careful eyes.

Steve stared back at him, focusing on the pulse in his throat, golden skin clean of blood and black slime. The rise of his chest, scarred but whole.

Billy nodded once and got out of bed, Steve’s mouth opening on a soft sound of confusion.

He walked out of the room and it felt like he had shut off the light, Steve’s chest squeezing painfully with misplaced dread.

He dropped his forehead to his knees, pushing the heels of his hands so hard into his eye sockets that the bursts of light behind his eyelids outshone the memories of horror and gore.

A glass clinked down onto his nightstand, bringing Steve’s head up to find Billy standing over him, backlit by the lamp in the corner. His hair glowed golden over the shadow of his silhouette.

Billy picked up the glass, bringing the cool rounded edge to rest against Steve’s lips.

“Drink it, for your throat.”

Steve tried to curl his hands around it, sloshing the water high against the sides until Billy pried his hands away, tipping the glass just enough for water to touch his lips and letting Steve take in a little at a time.

It was exquisitely gentle, and it wasn’t clumsy at all. Steve didn’t know what to do with a Billy like that, looking away as he sipped.

Billy finally seemed satisfied with the amount of water left in the glass, placing it back down on the nightstand and rounding the bed to get back on his side, resting his head on the pillow and watching as Steve’s tremors slowed to a gradual stop.

Steve ran his hands through his hair, letting his legs fall to the bed.

“Shit, I’m sorry I woke you.”

Billy shifted onto his back, still watching Steve as the rounded muscle of his shoulder pressed against Steve’s flank through the sheets.

“It’s been nearly two weeks, man. You’ve been having them every few nights. This shit is old hat by now. I can usually get you to calm down just by talking to you. Did you know that you talk in your sleep, Harrington? Nonsense shit, mostly. Kinda cute, in a freaky way. Didn’t work this time. I think I just made it worse.”

Steve slid down the bed to lay his head on the pillow, taking deep breaths in through the nose, out through the mouth. In one two three out four five six.

“It’s not your fault. I just get like this sometimes. Scares the crap out of a random hookup, I can tell you that.”

Billy gave a husky laugh, shoulders shaking on the mattress.

“I bet it does. Good thing you hired a fucking professional then, huh?”

The light from the lamp picked out the warmth in his skin, reflecting in his eyes like sunshine on the surface of a lake.

Steve’s lips lifted in half a smile, tucking his hands between his face and pillow as he turned on his side.

“Yeah, it is. But I’m still sorry. This isn’t exactly in your job description.”

Billy’s face hardened, lips a tight line as he sat up, glaring ferociously at the foot of the bed like he was daring Steve’s nightmares to creep back over the edge.

“Stop fucking apologizing. I don’t want to hear that shit. You had a bad dream, now it’s over. Nothing to apologize for.”

He reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed, pulling out a fresh carton of cigarettes and Steve’s monogrammed lighter.

Steve sat up with a squawk as Billy pushed up against the headboard and lit one with a sharp inhale, flicking the lighter shut with a smooth twist of his wrist.

“I don’t smoke in the apartment!”

Billy shrugged, smoke curling from his nostrils to frame his unconcerned face as he tilted his head to look at Steve.

“I do, when you’re not here.”

Steve made a series of indignant noises that went entirely unacknowledged as Billy leaned back over into his nightstand and returned with a clean ashtray, balancing it on his naked thigh.

He took a deep, long drag, aiming the smoke at the ceiling as he spoke.

“This always helps me, when I have one of those.”

Steve forgot all about nicotine stains and singed sheets, eyes snapping to Billy’s face, still turned up to the ceiling.

“You get nightmares?”

Billy’s answering laugh was filled to the brim with anything but humor, dark and sharp and tearing at the tentative peace they had somehow managed to find after Steve came up screaming.

“Yeah. Yeah, princess, I get fucking nightmares,” he aimed the cigarette at Steve, pointing the cherry in his face, “Listen, and I mean this shit, if you ever find me having one, don’t touch me. Just leave me the hell alone, alright?”

Steve nodded under Billy’s narrowed gaze.

Billy took another long, slow drag while he looked into Steve’s eyes, hooking his index finger under his chin and drawing him closer and closer until Steve’s heart started to pick up speed when he had just gotten it to slow down.

Billy’s thumb hinged his jaw open, tugging at the swell of Steve’s lower lip as he angled his face to slot their noses together, the warmth of his lips searing Steve’s without ever touching.

He exhaled a steady cloud of smoke into Steve’s mouth, smiling as Steve inhaled greedily, taking nicotine and Billy directly into his lungs.

That shit was addictive.

The smoke was hot from the flame and Billy’s mouth, burning through Steve like a wildfire.

He snatched the cigarette from Billy’s lips, sucking it down to the filter before crushing it into the ashtray so forcefully that Billy hissed as the glass dug into his thigh.

Billy knocked his hand away, grabbing the ashtray and tossing it onto the nightstand with a clatter along with the lighter in his hand.

His eyes glittered darkly with a question Steve was aching to answer.

“You asked, Billy. You asked what I needed.”

Billy nodded, making shushing sounds as he combed his fingers through Steve’s wild hair.

Steve pushed his soothing hands away, flailing the sheets off to crawl down to the foot of the bed, grabbing Billy’s knees and pulling them apart.

Billy put his own palms on Steve’s shoulders, holding him in place as he tried to swoop down.

“Whoa. Hey, you really don’t have to-”

Steve looked up at him through sweat-damp fringe, still clammy from his nightmare. He probably looked deranged. He didn’t care.

“Fill me up.”

Billy’s thumbs pressed, firm and steady and grounding, into the hollows of his collarbones. His eyes gleamed soft and serious, focused on Steve’s face.

“That what you need?”

Steve’s skin was too tight, he wanted to claw it off and burst free from himself. He didn’t know what he needed, but it was starting to feel like Billy holding him down was a good fucking start.

“Yeah. Fuck, please. Make me forget.”

Billy squeezed the muscle of his trapezius, one of his hands coming up to cup Steve’s trembling chin.

“Your wish, princess.”

Steve tried to dive for his cock, lying soft and thick against his thigh. Billy held him back with a firm hand on his chin, making him look up to meet his eyes.

“Slow. Don’t hurt yourself.”

Steve kind of wanted to point out that Billy sucked dick like he was trying to win a sword swallowing competition, but okay.

He mouthed at the rapidly thickening length of Billy’s cock, pressing the tip against the roof of his mouth, jaw stretching as he filled with every heartbeat until he was a solid weight on his tongue.

Steve pushed down farther, halting at a palm against his cheek, encouraging him to look up.

Billy watched him with lowered lashes and an open mouth, tongue tracing the edge of his lower lip. He blinked dreamily and lifted Steve’s face with the hand on his cheek until he fell from his mouth with a filthy slurp.

“Enough. I don’t want to strain your throat. And we both know it’s a fucking stretch when I really get in there, baby.”

Steve growled low and frustrated, throat still aching with the echo of his screams. He knocked Billy’s caressing hand away.

“I asked you to fill me up, not treat me like glass. If I want to be fussed over I’ll pick up one of the repressed douchebags at the country club.”

Billy thumbed a lock of hair out of Steve’s eyes with a wry laugh, the tension in his thigh muscles Steve’s only clue before he flipped them both over, straddling Steve’s lower back with a hand on the crown of his head, mashingthe left side of his face into the mattress.

Steve grunted with shock, Billy only laughing harder as he tried to jerk his head away from his hold when Billy leaned just a little of his weight forward onto Steve’s skull.

“Fill you up, hold you down, anymore instructions for me, pretty boy?”

Steve wrapped a hand around Billy’s wrist, yanking his arm away from his head and throwing off his balance. He rolled with it, still laughing, reaching over to the nightstand and returning with condoms and lube, dropping both onto Steve’s back, his muscles tensing at the chill.

Billy knocked his knees apart, settling between his legs.

His hands first stroked over the tense muscles of Steve’s back, kneading lightly before moving on to his ass, squeezing and pulling him open.

Steve was accustomed now, to feeling Billy’s mouth on his most secret places. He lifted his hips with anticipation, making a small inquiring noise when Billy’s lips landed on the dimples at the base of his spine instead, murmuring low into his skin between soft kisses.

“So pretty. All warm and soft with sleep. Always ready for me, fuck.”

Steve pushed back harder, spreading his legs open wide.

“Yeah, so let’s go already. You take fucking forever.”

Billy rubbed his face hard against the curve of Steve’s ass, stubble scraping.

“Relax. I know you’re hungry for my dick, baby. Don’t worry, you’re gonna get it.”

Steve groaned into the mattress, equal parts irritated and grateful for Billy’s slow, careful approach. He didn’t want to admit it, but hard and fast would have been too much right then, his body still keyed up from fighting shadows.

Billy continued to trail kisses over his skin, never quite going where Steve wanted him, until Steve was holding his breath every time he drew nearer and nearer his center.

That breath whooshed out of him when Billy licked a stripe from his balls back up to those dimples, diving back in immediately to work his tongue as deep as it could go.

As far as Steve was concerned, Billy Hargrove could give Gene Simmons a run for his money.

Fingers slick with lube pressed in alongside his tongue, working Steve open with firm, careful strokes.

Steve whined when Billy pulled away, craning to watch Billy wipe his mouth on his arm, rolling on a condom and pulling Steve’s hips away from the bed, lining them up.

Steve’s chest constricted with the absolute certainty that it wasn’t quite right. He needed more than that, tonight. He pulled away, throwing a hand back to push at Billy’s thigh.

“Wait, not like that.”

Billy froze, hand stilling midway across his hip. His voice cracked down the middle with surprise.

“You don’t want to fuck?”

Steve rolled onto his back, resisting the urge to press his hands against the heat rising in his cheeks as Billy stared down at him with a curious mix of frustration and concern.

“No, I do. I just want. God, it’s stupid. I’m stupid, I know. I feel like I need to see you, this time. If that’s okay? I know you don’t like that, sorry.”

Billy nodded, helping arrange Steve’s legs over his folded knees as he raised an imperious eyebrow.

“The fuck do you know about what I like? You think I’m gonna turn down an opportunity to watch your pretty face while I wreck your narrow ass? Stupid doesn’t begin to cover it, baby.”

He glanced down just enough to fit himself just right against Steve before snapping back to Steve’s face, never looking away as he pushed in slowly and steadily.

Steve knew his face was flaming, but it was worth it. Just seeing Billy’s face started to calm the sharp, clawing thing in his chest, soothing the constant ache of it.

This was better than the mirror, more immediate and real. They hadn’t tried facing each other since then and Steve hadn’t realized how much he missed it.

He couldn’t worry about the things Billy might be seeing in his own face when there was just so much of Billy right there for him to see.

The ripple of his stomach muscles as he thrust his hips, the bounce of his curls, mussed with sleep, the way his tongue pushed past his lips on a particularly good slide, grunting in his chest.

The clear, direct gaze on Steve’s face, watching him like there was just as much for Billy to see, like he was thoroughly enjoying the show. Like Steve was worth seeing.

Steve hadn’t felt worth much in a long time.

Billy shifted Steve’s legs onto the crook of his elbows, pulling him further up the firm slope of his thighs.

He nudged against Steve’s prostate, making his legs jerk over his arms. Billy smiled at that, lifting his legs all the way up over his shoulders, bending Steve in half with a determined glint in his eye.

“Plant your feet, Harrington. I’m gonna rock your fucking world, baby.”

Steve rolled his eyes at the cheesy line, knocking his ankle against Billy’s ear. Billy just turned his head with a quick nip at the bone before staring down at Steve with a level of concentration that brought to mind the squeak of rubber on gym floors.

He held onto his hips with both hands, fingers digging into his ass as he lifted Steve at the same time that he pushed forward, sliding impossibly deeper.

Steve didn’t recognize the sound he made in response, slapping his hands against the headboard to push back, digging his calves into Billy’s shoulders.

Billy pulled almost all of the way out before slamming back in, Steve’s shout ringing against the metal frame of the bed.

Billy turned his head to smear his lips over Steve’s skin, shushing him quietly.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you. Don’t need you to scream for me, this time. Just look at me, let me see it in your face.”

Steve nodded dumbly, eyes roving over the sheen of sweat starting to gather on Billy’s skin, the texture of his scars now as intimately familiar to Steve as the rest of his body.

He looked back up at Billy’s face as he thrust again, just as deep but far more gently, dragging the entire length of his cock over Steve’s sweet spot until Steve’s mouth opened on a silent scream.

Billy nodded like Steve had said something, that line appearing between his eyebrows as he worked them into a rhythm, the sound of their bodies and labored breathing interrupted only by small sounds Steve couldn’t quite manage to keep inside.

Billy looked down at Steve’s cock, flushed dark pink and dripping a puddle onto the folded skin of his stomach.

Billy’s fingers twitched against his hips as he caught Steve’s eye, curls damp across his forehead.

“Touch yourself. I want to watch.”

Steve didn’t need to be asked twice, one hand swiping through the mess on his stomach before wrapping around his cock while the other went straight to his balls, lifting and cupping them until he could see the place where they were joined.

Billy groaned at that, watching himself pump into Steve’s body for long moments before moving on to the motion of Steve’s hand over his cock.

He wasn’t wasting any time, working quickly over his shaft with slick sounds while he twisted his wrist every time he rounded the head.

Billy licked his lips like Steve was a dessert buffet, hips picking up speed as he started grunting low on every thrust.

It was so good, so good, but it wasn’t perfect. Steve was missing something.

He whined and writhed against the sheets trying to reach for it, sliding his thighs against the skin of Billy’s chest and, there.

That was it.

He needed to feel Billy right up against him while they moved together.

Billy made a low noise of protest when Steve removed his hands from himself, lifting his body from the bed to pull at Billy’s arms.

“Get down here with me, come on.”

Billy dropped Steve’s legs from his shoulders with a wide grin, leaning down to frame his face with his hands, laughter dancing in his eyes.

“What, you wanna try missionary, princess? Should we just go ahead and get under the covers, too? Want me to turn the light off for you?”

Steve couldn’t help the visceral shudder and tiny terrible noise he made in response anymore than he could help the sudden increase in his breathing and the claws now digging into Billy’s back as he shook his head frantically.

“No, please. Please don’t.”

Billy’s grin dropped away with the rest of his swagger, like a paper bag of groceries tearing open to tumble to the ground. His hands cradled Steve’s head as he blinked wide, apologetic eyes down at him.

“Shit. No, baby, that was a stupid joke. I’m a prick. Light stays on, okay?”

Steve nodded hard, gulping down air as he tried to calm his racing heart.

“Okay, Yeah, okay.”

Billy dropped his head to kiss him right over his breastbone, over and over until Steve’s breath started coming more calmly and evenly, Billy’s hands stroking through his hair all the while.

“You want me with you? Here I am. Not going anywhere. Don’t wanna be anywhere but inside you.”

He emphasized this with a roll of his hips, skin dragging over Steve’s from chest to thigh.

Perfect. It was perfect.

He could feel every inch of him inside and out and for the first time that night, Steve started to feel truly safe. Cared for.

It was all bullshit and lies, of course, but, god, it felt so real.

Steve would pay any price for this. For Billy.

Steve’s cock was trapped between their bodies, rubbing constantly against Billy’s skin. He allowed himself to drop into fantasy as he got closer and closer, leaking sticky wet onto Billy’s steadily working stomach.

The fantasy that this was their bed, that Billy was his and he was Billy’s and they were pressed close together because they loved each other.

Billy lifted his head to look into Steve’s eyes while he pushed deep inside and that was enough.

Steve threw his head back on a cry as he spilled between them, Billy thrusting harder and faster while he squeezed around him.

“Oh, fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Holy shit, you feel amazing.”

Steve’s arms closed around his back, pulling him even closer as he buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck, muscles going rigid as his cock jumped and thickened, filling up the condom.

Steve petted his fingers through his hair, taking deep, greedy breaths against the side of his head as they came back down to Earth.

Billy lifted his head, eyes going to Steve’s lips for a breathless moment before sliding away, pushing up onto his arms with a huff of laughter.

“Didn’t know you had a vanilla kink, pretty boy. We should try that shit more often.”

Steve shivered at the sudden cold when Billy rolled onto his back, dropping the condom on the floor with a wet plop that made him want to gag.

He reached down to yank the sheets up over himself, too exhausted to even contemplate a shower.

He stiffened with surprise as Billy scooted closer on the bed instead of turning away on his side like he usually did, sliding under the sheet and scooping Steve up onto his chest like it was something they did every night.

Like he belonged there.

Billy shifted him in his arms, adjusting Steve’s head to rest more firmly against him. His fingers curled around Steve’s back, strong and sure.

“Listen, it doesn’t have to,” he groaned with frustration, chest rumbling under Steve’s ear along with his heartbeat, Steve had never heard a better sound, “It doesn’t really mean anything, alright? We can just have this, without making it some big fucking deal, okay?”

Steve gave in to his baser instincts, clinging tightly to Billy as he wrapped his leg around his hips, pressing their sticky skin together as close as they could go.

“We can have what?”

Billy’s hand smoothed down over the back of Steve’s head, along the curve of his spine to rest softly over his rib cage.

Billy shrugged with his entire torso, moving the both of them up and down in demonstration.

“This.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat, fingers tightening even more around Billy’s arms.

“Oh. Yeah, okay. I get it. We can. Yeah, we can do that.”

It might have been his imagination, but he thought he felt Billy’s muscles relax with a quiet sigh of relief at Steve’s ready agreement.

Steve’s eyelids were heavy, drooping shut as he wiggled and settled in over Billy, breath coming slow and steady under the weight of his strong arms across his back.

Billy’s hands pressed him down, holding him still and it was like Steve’s bones turned to liquid, every part of him sliding into a tranquil state of sleepy bliss.

“Go the fuck to sleep.”

Steve must have been dreaming already because he could have sworn that he felt the soft pressure of Billy’s lips against his temple just before he drifted off to an otherwise blissfully dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, so I upped the chapter count again because I have no self control and I can’t stop writing these idiots. Send help.


	8. I need some company, a guardian angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Smells good in here. What is that, pot roast?”
> 
> Billy looked at Steve like he’d just sneezed on the vegetables.
> 
> “Beef bourguignon.”
> 
> If blinking slowly to express utter confusion were an Olympic sport, Steve would have medaled. Bronze at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m battling IRL writing deadlines by posting this nonsense. Nothing like procrastinating writing by writing something else, right?

Steve tried not to draw comparisons to the way his father had always doled out gifts in place of affection, but it was a little damning.

Forgot his eleventh birthday, twice the gifts. Couldn’t get home for Christmas, new TV and an Atari.

His dad had to travel for half the year, Steve got a BMW.

Made him get a shitty mall job where he almost died, Steve got a fluffy office job in a high-rise and a two bedroom apartment in the Northside of Chicago.

His parents died in a cab accident in Rome and Steve got three homes, four cars, six bank accounts, and a financial planning company based in Chicago with branches throughout the Midwest.

It was bullshit.

He would have traded all of it just to have a little time together. Just to not be alone. To have known he was ever loved by anyone.

Instead, he was using his bottomless bank account to pay his ex-high school bully to pretend that Steve was at least fuckable in the short term.

Steve had been accused of being pathetic before, but.

He could win a goddamned trophy right now.

“Here you are, Mr. Harrington. I do apologize for the wait.”

Steve’s attention snapped to the jeweler across the counter, holding out Steve’s commission displayed on a red velvet cloth set into a lacquered black wood box.

It was too much. Over the top. Ridiculous.

Steve loved it.

“Perfect, it’s exactly as I described.”

The man nodded, wrapping the box in tissue and placing it in a gold paper bag stamped with the custom jeweler’s logo.

“Excellent, sir. Glad to have been of service.”

Steve tucked the bag inside his coat, hoping to avoid questions when he walked back to his office.

Marge was beginning to suspect that Steve had a secret girlfriend and was not above snooping to find out.

He would fire her if she wasn’t the only thing holding him together in the entire thirty-six floors of the building that he now owned.

The hotdog he picked up for lunch dripped mustard down his front just in time for another board meeting where the entire board looked at Steve like he was an idiot child.

It was like meeting a dozen mirror images of his dead father.

In a word, stressful.

Returning home to to sound of Judas Priest blasting through the stereo and the savory smell of roasting meat made Steve’s troubles melt away, hung up with his coat and briefcase by the door.

The gold bag was crumpled beneath his arm as he rushed to the bedroom to change, stashing it in his closet while he shucked off his suit and threw on some shorts, leaving his lavender shirt open over his undershirt, tie tossed to the floor.

He padded into the kitchen to find Billy frowning down at a complicated vegetable dish that Steve would have called a salad had it not been arranged in meticulous rows.

He was wearing Steve’s sweatpants, pooling a little around his feet because he wasn’t quite tall enough to stretch them out like Steve did. Another of Steve’s shirts had been sacrificed, sleeves cut away from-

Holy shit.

Was Billy actually wearing one of Steve’s George Michael shirts?

He was so cute Steve didn’t even give a fuck that he used to like that shirt.

It looked better on Billy, anyway. Scarred arms on display as he fussed with the sliced vegetables in the bowl, rearranging them in a way that was imperceptibly different to Steve from the original arrangement and nodding with satisfaction.

“Smells good in here. What is that, pot roast?”

Billy looked at Steve like he’d just sneezed on the vegetables.

“Beef bourguignon.”

If blinking slowly to express utter confusion were an Olympic sport, Steve would have medaled. Bronze at the very least.

“What?”

Billy turned back to his salad, poking a stray bit of tomato back into place.

“It’s like, French pot roast. Took me fucking forever, so your skinny ass is gonna eat it all. I got some fancy wine to go with it, too. Don’t worry, you paid for everything, Richie rich.”

Steve’s enthusiasm dropped, smile freezing on his face when Billy turned to look at him. Billy frowned, holding his arms out to the side.

“What? Is it the fucking shirt again? You had like three George Michael shirts, man. This was the ugliest one. If anything, I did you a favor by destroying it.”

Steve shook his head, laughing at Billy’s confused glance down at the handsome face on his chest. Steve patted George’s cheek lovingly, copping a feel of Billy’s firm pecs while he was at it.

“There is no ugly George Michael shirt. The man is gorgeous. Don’t even try to tell me you wouldn’t bone him.”

Billy patted Steve’s cheek just like he had done the photo, with the same condescending look on his face.

“Nah. Wears too much makeup. I like my men au naturale, pretty boy.”

Steve fought a rising blush, turning away to start setting the table. He waited until Billy brought the plate of not-salad to the glass dining table before trying to speak again.

“Listen, I was thinking. I’d really like to buy you a new wardrobe. Maybe save my last few band shirts from a gruesome death.”

Billy went stock still, hand still gripping the plate as he looked up at Steve under eyebrows that did not bode well for his response.

“Fuck off. I’ll leave your ugly shirts alone, alright? You don’t need to get me anything to wear. It’s not like I ever leave this goddamned apartment, and I certainly don’t need clothes to do what you pay me for.”

Steve curled his fingers around the top of one of his uncomfortable metal dining chairs, giving Billy a hopeful smile.

“So I was getting to that. I’d really like to, and I would pay you, of course. A bonus on top of your usual. But I was thinking that it might be nice to take you out somewhere,” he swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, “Like a date.”

Billy walked into the kitchen, lifting the lid on Steve’s enameled cast iron, extremely expensive and previously unused Dutch oven, peering inside and poking at the contents with a wooden spoon.

“You want me to be your escort? Not really that kind of hooker, Harrington.”

Steve could see, in his mind, a white board with tally marks piling up under the heading ’you suck’ with every word spilling from his stupid mouth.

“Okay, I get that. But you could be. With a new wardrobe. You’d make amazing arm candy.”

Steve couldn’t believe he had just used the term ’arm candy’. Like an asshole. Soooo many tally marks.

Neither could Billy, judging by his face as he tossed the lid into the sink with a heavy thud.

“You’re serious.”

Steve would really like a shot of divine inspiration to help him find a way to recant the whole ’arm candy’ thing.

He nodded, pinning on a smile that was more of a wince, if he was honest.

“Yeah. Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll take you out on the town.”

Billy took the plates into the kitchen to scoop fragrant meat and gravy onto each one, sliding Steve’s in front of him before settling in with his own.

He took a bite, chewing it slowly while he gestured at Steve to take a seat like it was Billy’s dining table.

And, really, it kind of was. Steve had only ever used it for playing games with the kids before Billy appeared.

It was like he had been living with dark, empty spaces all around him that had been waiting for Billy to fill them with life.

No amount of lamps could light up Steve’s apartment the way one disgusting blue-eyed asshole did.

Steve leaned over his plate to inhale the steam rising from Billy’s latest masterpiece. He had really taken off after that first cookbook. Now Steve had bought him a collection, neatly arranged on top of the cabinets.

The bottle of wine clicked against his glass as Billy poured for him and sweat started to gather under Steve’s collar.

Billy filled his own glass, setting the bottle down and considering Steve over the rim of his etched crystal wineglass.

“I want to pick my shit out. You’re not getting me in a polo shirt, country club.”

That white board in Steve’s mind gained a tentative, very faint line under the heading ’you rule’.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I want it be stuff you like, stuff you would actually want to wear. I just have a couple of requests for specific things you’ll need, but you can pick the style.”

Billy set down his glass, tracing the top edge with his finger as his red-stained tongue teased at his lips.

“You got some kinky shit in mind, pretty boy?”

And honestly, no. Steve didn’t. Until now. So, thanks for that.

Visions of Billy in studded leather flooded his mind and strained his shorts until Steve shifted guiltily in his seat, Billy’s eyes lighting up while he laughed into his wine.

“No! I just want to make sure we get you a decent suit and a nice coat. Some good shoes. There’s a dress code we’ll need to adhere to.”

Billy sank his teeth into a slice of cucumber with a juicy crunch.

“Mmhmm. I just bet there is. So tell me, where are we going that you need some arm candy?”

Christ. The way Billy said that spoke to how certain he was that Steve was squirming with embarrassment.

Steve pushed his wine glass away, reaching for his water and taking a healthy gulp before he spoke.

He stared Billy down with every ounce of confidence he used to feel as easy as breathing.

“The Opera.”

Billy regarded him in stony silence before laughing so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks, Steve ignoring him in favor of making a dent in the mounds of food on his plate.

Billy’s laughter dried up when Steve didn’t have anything else to say.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

Steve, unlike Billy, preferred to chew and swallow his food before speaking, Billy waiting impatiently for his answer like manners were a waste of his time.

Steve swallowed down his mouthful, winking obnoxiously just for the hell of it.

“As a heart attack, Hargrove.”

Billy kind of looked like Steve had just asked him to slap his face with a rubber duck, blinking in total non comprehension.

“Yeah, but. Me? At the fucking Opera? With like, the ladies in the diamonds and fur coats?”

Steve went a little red at the mention of diamonds, mind on a crumpled bag stuffed guiltily in his closet.

He poked at his food to avoid giving himself away.

“Yup.”

Billy was ignoring his own food now in favor of squinting suspiciously at Steve.

“Why the fuck would you want to take me there?”

So, okay. Maybe it was a little cute, at first, that Billy was shocked about the Opera. But now it was getting annoying.

Like. Why can’t Steve just ask him out, to do things that they’ll both enjoy? Was that so crazy?

He was over it, leaning back in his chair and casting his arms out in a show of exasperation, tossing his napkin onto the table.

“Honestly? I think you’ll like it.”

Billy stood up, leaning so far across the table that George got a mouthful of beef bourguignon, sneering in Steve’s face.

“Listen, man, just because I like dick doesn’t mean I like fruity shit like operas and ballet and what the fuck ever.”

Steve groaned at the ceiling, sitting up to get in Billy’s face now that it was hovering menacingly over his plate.

“Not because of that, dumbass. I meant that I think you’ll like it because you like operatic music. You know, all that wailing, headbanger shit? Just, trust me on this.”

Billy considered Steve in a way that used to make him brace himself for fists before huffing out a breath and sitting back in his chair. He speared a tomato on his knife and pointed it at Steve.

“I don’t really do trust, pretty boy.”

Steve watched him bite it off of the blade, chewing like it was a method of intimidation. It reminded him of that cat under his deck, puffing itself up and hissing to keep him away.

It had been purring in his lap by the end of the week.

He took a sip of his water, looking at Billy from beneath his lashes.

“That’s okay, I’ll earn it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes that sugar daddy Steve tag.


	9. Be my little baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He squared his shoulders and walked into the shop, Billy following reluctantly, turning in place to take in the dark wood paneling of the foyer.
> 
> Armand rushed forward from his desk, sparkling white smile on his face.
> 
> “Mr. Harrington! What a lovely surprise, it has been far too long since you have come to see me! And who is your handsome friend?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty Woman AU Intensifies
> 
> Sugar Daddy Steve is in the building.

Marge fielded the call from security, reading the message out to Steve in a bored monotone and squawking as he shoved past her, already running for the elevator.

Steve couldn’t believe it, rushing from his office down to the storefront boasting tailor made menswear that he had frequented since moving to Chicago, storming into the richly furnished shop to find Billy sat on a lush leather chair with a bloody nose and fucking zip ties around his wrists.

He held them up when Steve walked in, knees spreading wide in his chair with a voice full of cocky swagger.

“Kinky, right?”

His hands were shaking. Not much, but enough for Steve to notice. Enough to make his blood boil.

Two burly security guards flanked Billy, both looking a little the worse for wear. The one on the right was definitely going to have a black eye.

Steve briefly and emphatically considered going out to his car and taking the bat out of his trunk to really do some fucking damage.

Giorgio walked in from behind a curtain, hands out like Steve was his savior.

“Oh, Mr. Harrington! I am so terribly sorry, but it appears that this,” he glanced at Billy like he was shit on the bottom of his shoe, “street tough has stolen your credit card. Do not worry, I have called the police and they are on their way as we speak!”

Steve thought that was probably for the best, because he was about to commit a goddamned homicide.

He ignored Giorgio, dropping to his knees between Billy’s feet, dabbing at the crusted blood beneath his nose with the cuff of his custom suit jacket.

“Oh my god, baby. Are you alright? What did they do to you?”

Billy’s face twitched when Steve called him baby, jerking away when Steve licked his thumb and scrubbed at the blood.

“I came to this shithole to get the clothes off of your stupid fucking list, told them your name like you said, and this prissy little dickmunch asked me to show him your card. And then when I did, he called in some thugs on me, because he’s a,” Billy leaned around Steve’s head to snarl at Giorgio, “rancid little cockwallet!”

Giorgio gasped with affront, taking a step back when Steve finally looked at him.

“Why aren’t you bringing me a pair of scissors while you prepare to tell the cops that you called them out here over nothing?”

Giorgio blinked at him, mouth open as his eyes darted between Steve’s furious face and his hand on Billy’s cheek.

“Why, Mr. Harrington, I’m sorry if there has been some sort of misunderstanding, but you must see why I would assume-”

Steve bared his teeth, nostrils flaring with rage, voice raised in a shout amplified by the marble floors.

“I should see why you would assume that you should call security on my fucking boyfriend and have them rough him up?”

Giorgio inhaled like he was trying to do an invisible line of coke off of the fist pressed to his lips, eyes wide.

“I had no idea, he didn’t say.”

Steve stood up, Giorgio stumbling out of his way as he stalked behind the register and pulled out a pair of figured silver scissors from a shelf.

He fantasized about using them to stab everyone in the room except for Billy while he cut through the thick plastic ties.

Billy gave a brief, aborted sigh of relief when he was freed, rubbing the lines away from his wrists as he flashed a worn-thin grin at Steve.

“Thanks, honeybunch.”

Steve focused on the blood staining the front of Billy’s faded denim jacket while he barked at Giorgio.

“Do you still have my card?”

He scrambled to get it out from behind the register, bringing it to Steve on a tiny filigree platter, like a consummate asshole.

Steve picked up the card, turning it over in his hand to read the name of the store across the front above the script ’platinum member’.

It crunched satisfyingly between the blades of the scissors, falling into pieces that he ground into the floor with the heel of his Italian leather loafer.

Billy’s delighted laugh rang out over Giorgio’s pleas and protests.

Steve dropped the scissors on top of the destroyed card, taking Billy’s hand and walking out of the store without ever acknowledging Giorgio trailing after him.

He didn’t speak until they were sitting in his BMW, Billy pulling a wet wipe from his console to clean up his face.

“I’m sorry.”

Billy gave him an unimpressed glance in the mirror.

“You’re sorry. For what? Sending your dirty hooker to a fancy tailor shop thinking they were just going to serve me like I was somebody?”

And there was so much there that Steve wanted to combat, but he had to take them one at a time.

“I didn’t think that they would treat you like that, they’ve never-”

Billy shut the visor with a snap, shoving his shoulders back against his seat.

“No! You didn’t think, did you? Of course they don’t treat you like shit, princess, you look like you could buy the fucking building.”

He could, actually. That wasn’t a terrible idea. Buy the building and kick them out. He’d have Marge look into it.

Billy continued, dabbing at the blood on his jacket with a fresh wipe.

“And I look like the cheapest thing in the whole store, because that’s what I am.”

Steve shook his head, turning in his seat to face him.

“No, Billy, you don’t. You’re not cheap and you don’t deserve to be treated like trash.”

Billy laughed like glass breaking, tossing his bloody wipe onto the pristine ivory carpet.

“I’m not cheap? I’m not trash? I once sucked dick for ten bucks, behind a dumpster.”

His face was daring Steve to look away, to flinch in disgust.

He didn’t, meeting Billy’s eyes defiantly. The steering wheel creaked in his grip.

“You’re not cheap, and you’re not trash. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

He peeled out of his parking spot, going further uptown to an even more exclusive tailor shop where he purchased his formalwear for special events.

Billy sat stubbornly in his seat when Steve got out of the car, passing his keys to the valet.

Steve yanked open his door, peering in.

“Come on, I promise it will be better this time.”

Billy snorted, batting Steve’s hands away when he reached over and released his seatbelt.

“Oh, like it could be worse.”

Steve groaned his name impatiently as Billy eyed up the valet.

“I dunno, man. This guy looks like he could use a turn around the block with me. Looks a little tense. Why don’t you just go in without me and I’ll stay here, maybe make enough to buy you a hotdog in thanks.”

The poor valet blinked baffled eyes at Steve over Billy’s challenging grin.

Steve took hold of Billy’s jacket and hauled him from the car, shoving him onto the sidewalk.

“Listen, I know you’re mad at me, and you have every reason to be, but don’t. Don’t joke around about that. My one big request, remember?”

Billy shrugged him off with a sneer, yanking his jacket into place.

“Exclusivity. Right. Who the fuck do you think you’re kidding? Like you’d even notice a little more wear on my tires. I’ve had so many pricks in me I’m practically a pin cushion.”

Steve knew he was only doing it to get a rise out of him but, shit, it was working.

He squared his shoulders and walked into the shop, Billy following reluctantly, turning in place to take in the dark wood paneling of the foyer.

Armand rushed forward from his desk, sparkling white smile on his face.

“Mr. Harrington! What a lovely surprise, it has been far too long since you have come to see me! And who is your handsome friend?”

Billy shuffled his feet while Steve introduced him, shoving his hands into the pockets of his stained jacket. His nose was still red and slightly swollen. It sounded painful when he sniffed and snorted like he was preparing to spit on the floor.

Christ, Steve hoped he didn’t spit on the floor just to spite him. It was not out of the realm of possibility. Billy wielded grossness like a weapon.

Armand looked Billy up and down, smile widening.

“It will be a pleasure to dress you, Mr. Hargrove. You are a man made for clothing.”

Billy offered Steve a quiet aside as they followed him into the back, leaning close to Steve’s ear with an amused whisper.

“Now that, I’ve never heard before. It’s usually the other way round.”

He grumbled through his measurements, making crass comments on needing plenty of room in the crotch, looking surprised when Armand laughed uproariously, peering around his leg at Steve.

He waited until Armand left to fetch fabric samples before turning to Steve with a shit-eating grin, tongue tucked between his teeth.

“You fucked that guy.”

Steve glanced frantically behind him at the door, ducking slightly like that would have any effect on Armand overhearing.

“What? Keep your voice down, Jesus.”

Billy adjusted himself in his jeans obnoxiously, waggling suggestive eyebrows.

“You did. You fucked the tailor. Or, knowing you, pretty boy, the tailor fucked you.”

Steve didn’t have to answer because his rising flush did it for him, Billy crowing with delight.

“Holy shit, did you do it in the dressing room, you little slut?”

Steve gave in, moving closer to Billy and keeping his voice low. He lowered his chin to look up at him through his lashes, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket.

“Let’s just say, my suits are extremely well fitted. Armand has all of my measurements down to the last inch.”

Billy’s eyes simmered, wandering down Steve’s body to take in his, admittedly, well-fitting suit.

“I just bet he does.”

Steve stepped back when Armand reappeared with an armload of samples and a pile of ideas for making Billy’s new wardrobe fit his personal style.

An assistant materialized with champagne, passing a flute into Billy’s bewildered fingers while Steve sat back and watched him getting treated like a king and chafing at it all the way.

Armand obviously found him delightful, laughing at his crude antics and taking every complaint in stride. Steve would have considered being jealous if he didn’t know the pair of them well enough to know they were not in the least compatible.

He could get used to this, spoiling Billy.

He only hoped he would give him the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But what was in the jewelry box???


	10. With all the power you’re releasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve plastered on a confident smile and held out the black lacquered box, wincing internally when Billy looked down at it and laughed.
> 
> “What is this shit? You still wanna play sugar daddy? Is that what gets you off?”
> 
> Steve didn’t answer, just pulled open the lid to display the piece of jewelry he had commissioned for Billy, heart pounding against his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have now reached maximum Pretty Woman AU.
> 
> Time to find out what was in that box!

Armand was a genius.

In tailoring, specifically. He was alright in bed, a little gentle for Steve’s tastes, but had undeniably talented hands.

Talented hands which had rendered every line of every piece in Billy’s wardrobe perfectly, almost obscenely fitted.

His suit jacket emphasized his broad shoulders, the molded planes of his chest and tapered waist highlighted by the thin, modern lapel and slim cut. The sleeves hinted at the bulge of muscle underneath, just the right side of being vulgar about it.

And his trousers didn’t bear thinking on if Steve wanted to ever get out of the apartment.

Jesus.

Steve had cleared out a section of his closet for Billy’s new clothes, easily distinguishable from his own even hanging there, edgy where Steve tended to play it safe.

Billy was waiting in the living room, extra surly to cover up his nerves as they prepared to head out to the Opera. He could hear him grumbling to himself as he disparaged Steve’s VHS collection.

Steve was glad that he had ordered in from his favorite restaurant rather than making Billy endure both excursions in the same night.

They could try that next time, if this didn’t blow up in Steve’s stupid face.

His palms were sweaty when he reached into the crumpled golden bag stuffed under his shoe rack, taking a deep, steadying breath before walking out with the contents clutched in his hand.

Billy turned on his heel at Steve’s entrance, dropping Steve’s copy of Footloose to crash onto the coffee table with a worrying crunch.

His curls were extra tight and well-defined, having spent an extra hour locked in the bathroom while Steve dealt with the mess from dinner.

His eyelashes were suspiciously dark, lips shiny and slick. He smelled like artificial cherry and cologne and Steve wanted to press his lips to the pulse beneath his collar.

Steve plastered on a confident smile and held out the black lacquered box, wincing internally when Billy looked down at it and laughed.

“What is this shit? You still wanna play sugar daddy? Is that what gets you off?”

Steve didn’t answer, just pulled open the lid to display the piece of jewelry he had commissioned for Billy, heart pounding against his ribs.

It was a single earring, 24 karat solid gold, a stylized lightning bolt set with sparkling pave diamonds dangling beneath a flawless sapphire stud.

He had chosen the stone because it reminded him of Billy’s eyes, because Steve was a sappy idiot.

Eyes which widened at the sight of the earring, darting up to Steve’s face in disbelief before looking back down.

His hand crept so slowly toward the box, both of them holding their breath, that Steve waited until he had nearly touched it before snapping the lid shut with a teasing grin, laughing as Billy jerked his hand back.

Billy laughed along with him before smacking the box out of his hand to crack open against the floor, leaning in to jut his chin in Steve’s face, his own sapphires flashing brighter than any stone Steve could have found.

“Fuck you, Harrington.”

Steve scrambled to scoop the broken box off of the floor, earring still securely nestled into the velvet.

He pressed it into Billy’s hand, giving him eyes that Dustin had once termed ’Bambi on steroids’.

“Sorry. That was dumb. I, actually. I had this made for you.”

And maybe that was showing his hand a little too much, but there was a wounded quality to Billy’s gaze after Steve’s stupid prank that he was willing to sacrifice some pride to heal.

Billy took it, pulling the earring out before dropping the box to crack into dejected pieces on the floor. He considered the earring on his palm, head tilted as he ran his thumb ponderously across the diamonds.

“No shit?”

Steve had officially lost his cool. He couldn’t wait, couldn’t feign disinterest while he fairly vibrated in place waiting for Billy’s reaction.

“No shit, man. Do you like it?”

Billy shrugged one shoulder, walking over to the mirror to fasten it to his ear, tongue peeking out in concentration.

He tussled his curls on that side of his head, pushing them back to better admire the flash of gold and precious stones against his skin.

“It’s pretty rad, I guess. Kinda flashy.”

And Steve would have sunk at the words if they had not been spoken so softly, accompanied by a small, pleased flush across Billy’s cheeks and a shy, genuine smile.

He turned to face Steve and literally took his breath away, the air escaping him in an embarrassingly audible rush.

“Gorgeous.”

Billy’s eyebrows shot up at Steve’s wheezing, mortifying whisper, which he tried and failed to cover up with a cough.

He reached out to touch his ear, as slowly as Billy had reached for the box, half expecting Billy to snap shut like the lid.

He didn’t, leaning his head into Steve’s touch, letting him look his fill.

As if Steve would ever tire of looking at Billy like this.

He pulled his hand away, giving his most charming smile with a toss of his head meant to highlight his best feature, a bubble of satisfaction filling him at the sight of Billy wearing his gift.

“It suits you.”

Billy flicked the lightning bolt with his index finger, setting it dancing, diamonds shooting fire in the light.

“Yeah?”

Billy ran his tongue along his teeth as he took Steve in from head to toe, a calculating glint in his eye.

“You really like this, don’t you? This high dollar, sugar daddy shit.”

Steve couldn’t quite meet his eye, focusing on the earring and the warmth he felt inside when Billy had accepted it.

Just because he was ashamed of it didn’t mean that Billy was wrong.

Steve ran a hand over his hair, smoothing imaginary fly-aways as if his going-out hair routine would ever allow such a thing to happen.

“I mean, kind of? I like to give gifts.”

Billy nodded, sucking on his lower lip until it popped fat and wet from between his sharp teeth with an obscene sound.

“Yeah, but how do you want me to show my appreciation?” he moved closer with a low, raspy stage whisper dripping with artificial sweetness, “You want me to call you Daddy?”

Something of Steve’s panic must have shown on his face because Billy’s face cleared of his heavy, practiced seduction with a flash of surprise settling into glee.

“No. No, that’s not it at all, is it, princess? If you want somebody to play Daddy, it’s gonna be me. Am I right?”

And Billy, in that suit, saying those words, with Steve’s earring dangling against his golden skin? It was absolutely, criminally unfair. Nuclear warfare on Steve’s composure.

His denial might have been more believable if he hadn’t tripped over the words like they were simply blocking the doorway to the truth.

“Shut up.”

Billy’s smile could have etched glass, watching Steve shift on nervous feet as he took a step closer, dropping down to a lower register and brushing his wet, cherry scented lips against the shell of Steve’s ear.

“I’ll let you call me Daddy all night long, pretty boy.”

Steve shoved him away with a laugh that did nothing to cover up how turned on he was, and Billy knew it, tongue clamped between his teeth and eyes sparkling.

That was the face of Billy Hargrove genuinely enjoying himself, and Steve could take the hit to his dignity for the privilege of seeing it.

He wagged his finger in Billy’s face like an admonishing librarian.

“Okay, enough with that shit. We’re going to be late.”

Billy lunged forward, teeth nipping at Steve’s finger and his dick staged an outright mutiny in his perfectly fitted suit pants.

Billy reacted to the theater in just the way Steve had expected, eyeing up the chandeliers and gilded ceiling with such careful nonchalance that Steve knew he was squirming internally with discomfort.

Once the usher had led them to their private box and closed the curtain, Billy turned to Steve with a ridiculously dirty leer.

“Got us a room, pretty boy? I should’ve known you couldn’t keep your hands off me for the whole- how long is this shit gonna last?”

Steve removed his coat, having decided to spare Billy the crowd around the coat check, laying it over the back of his plushly upholstered chair.

“About three hours, including intermission.”

Billy fell into his own chair with a groan, knees spread wide.

Steve scooted his chair closer to Billy’s under the guise of trying to get a better view of the stage.

Their box view was premium, unobstructed, already close enough to see the color of the actors’ eyes.

Billy didn’t call him on it.

He grumbled and shifted through the overture, slumping long-suffering in his seat as the lights dimmed and the curtain raised.

Steve got caught up in the show for a while, swaying slightly with the rise and fall of the music even if he didn’t understand the words.

He turned his head to check on Billy, worried he wasn’t enjoying himself.

But Billy.

Billy was riveted.

Glowing golden in the low light of the theater, completely absorbed in the music onstage, leaning forward slightly as if preparing to hang over the edge of their box just to get a closer glimpse.

Steve made a soft noise in his throat, all interest lost in the show when he had something so much better right in front of him.

Billy tore his eyes away from the stage, face bereft before flashing a crafty smile at Steve and leaning close, sliding his hand up Steve’s thigh.

Steve caught his hand when it shot over to squeeze his dick, hissing Billy’s name reproachfully.

Billy stuck out his tongue, massaging forcefully. A woman was weeping onstage, crying out for her lost love.

“Come on, Harrington. This is what you brought me here for, isn’t it? You wanted me to get you off in front of all these hoity toity assholes.”

Steve pried Billy’s fingers off his not entirely disinterested, traitor dick, keeping hold of his wrist as he made to shove it back.

“No. I brought you here to sit with me and enjoy the music.”

Billy’s wrist sagged in his grip, an entire Russian novel of confusion written across his face.

“So you want me to suck you off in the bathroom during intermission or something instead? Seems like a waste of these fancy box seats, but hey. You’re the boss.”

Steve let his thumb brush softly over Billy’s wrist, heart in his throat.

“No, Billy. Just, be here with me. Please.”

A small sound escaped Billy like he was being hurt, and badly. He wrenched his wrist away from Steve’s hand, sprawling in his seat like a delinquent, going so far as to prop his foot up on the edge of the box.

Steve settled in to watch as Billy relented by inches, becoming absorbed once more in the stage, spine slowly straightening and foot dropping to the floor so he could lean in as close as possible.

He kept his thumb tucked in his fist, the fading impression of the sharp ridge of Billy’s wrist held there like a kiss.

Billy had remembered himself in time for the lights to go up at Intermission, yawning dramatically when Steve asked if he wanted anything.

Billy accepted his glass of wine with a lack of belligerence that was his brand of quietly grateful.

He still sneered at Steve’s bottle of Perrier, though.

When the show resumed Steve was careful to alternate between watching the stage and watching Billy, who lost all pretense of disinterest as the music built to a crescendo.

Billy’s hand reached blindly across the divide, fingers holding on to the cuff of Steve’s jacket as his breath caught, every atom of him focused on the aria onstage.

Steve held his own breath, slowly, slowly turning his hand to meet Billy palm to palm, lacing their fingers together.

Billy squeezed hard, painfully mashing Steve’s bones together as he gasped at the sustained high note.

Steve had never felt anything better.

He allowed Steve to keep hold of his hand until the last note had faded, shooting out of his seat to applaud and holler like they were at a basketball game.

Steve couldn’t contain his smile when Billy turned to glance at him over his shoulder, eyes bright.

His cheeks were wet.

The sight hit Steve like a physical impact, stealing the air from his lungs.

Billy’s face was dry by the time they left the box, dropping his coat on Steve’s head before elbowing his way through the crowd to the bathroom.

Steve laughed, turning it into a cough in his fist, when a well turned-out man turned to glare at Billy and withered visibly under his feral stare.

He was waiting by the doors to the lobby when Billy returned, shrugging into his coat and pushing out into the frigid night air, taking it for granted that Steve would follow.

And follow he did, nearly trotting to catch up with Billy’s energetic strides, ducking his head to try and catch his eye.

“Did you like it?”

Billy stopped and fiddled with his coat, popping the collar and straightening the lapels, looking at anything but Steve. His earring shivered and sparkled with every movement.

“It was alright, I guess. Not as fruity as I thought it’d be. Some of the fight scenes were pretty badass.”

Steve pulled on his leather driving gloves, flexing them over his knuckles and waiting patiently for Billy to glance at him.

“Yeah. A lot of it goes over my head, but I always enjoy the music.”

Billy’s eyes were stars, burning down at Steve from millions of miles away, his face celestial bright.

“The music was. It was fucking brutal, man. Ripped out my goddamned spine. I could listen to that shit all day.”

Steve thought about the cassettes he had purchased while Billy was in the restroom, now burning a hole in his coat pocket.

He was going to leave them, casually, in places Billy was sure to find them. Like just beside his weight stand, plastic removed as though they were tapes Steve had already, nothing special.

Nothing to call Billy out on his interest.

Steve hummed noncommittally, setting off in the direction of the valet stand, gloved fingers tracing over the sharp corner of the tapes in his pocket, steady warmth banked like an ember in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now I can admit that this entire fic is based off of a stray thought I once had of Billy’s potential reaction to the jewelry box scene in Pretty Woman.
> 
> I have a lot more written that has very little to do with Pretty Woman and is just pure Billy/Steve smut and angst. 
> 
> Any other Pretty Woman scenes y’all think I should try to incorporate? Or should I go completely off the rails into the Harringrove trash pile?
> 
> I’m leaning toward the second option.


	11. I get frightened in all this darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve threw his head back as he bounced on Billy’s dick, fingers wrapped tight around his thick wrists to pin him to the bed.
> 
> He was just getting a rhythm going when he realized that Billy had gone entirely, uncharacteristically silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’re officially going off the rails, here. Lots of Billy/Steve angst that I’ll try to balance with plenty of smut. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Mention of homophobic language and discussion of sexual trauma in Billy’s past.
> 
> Billy Hargrove is kind of a warning in and of himself, but I wanted to give y’all a heads-up on this one.

Steve threw his head back as he bounced on Billy’s dick, fingers wrapped tight around his thick wrists to pin him to the bed.

He was just getting a rhythm going when he realized that Billy had gone entirely, uncharacteristically silent.

He looked down to find him gritting his teeth, staring over Steve’s shoulder as his breath came hard and quick and shallow, less like the exertion and excitement of sex and more like Steve after a nightmare.

Steve stopped moving, trying to catch Billy’s eye. But his gaze was unfocused, somewhere far away.

Steve squeezed his ribs with his knees.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Billy shook his head, jaw clenching as he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. His pulse fluttered wildly in his neck, beating like birds’ wings in his wrists.

“Nothing.”

Steve rubbed his thumbs over the thin skin of Billy’s wrists, registering that his sweat was cold and clammy, hands clenched into fists.

“Come on, just tell me. You know I won’t shut up until you do.”

Billy exhaled sharply through his nose, staring hard at the ceiling, jawline carved from marble.

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t stop.”

Like Steve was going to ignore his obvious distress and keep going. Like Steve was that kind of guy.

He was a lot of not-good things, but he wasn’t that.

He said Billy’s name softly, gently chiding.

Billy’s eyes cut to him and back to the ceiling, speaking so quietly that Steve had to strain to hear him, lips barely moving.

“I don’t really dig being held down, I guess. It’s fine if you want to do it. Lots of guys do. Keep going.”

As if to demonstrate, he pressed his own arms down harder against the mattress.

Steve released him like his wrists were on fire, wincing as he sat up too fast and Billy slid in as far as he could go.

Billy’s face drew down in a scowl, but he moved his wrists immediately, hands going to Steve’s hips.

He was already breathing easier, that trapped wild-horse glaze drifting away from his eyes.

“I said it’s fine. This is your rodeo, princess. You can ride however you want.”

Steve put his hands flat on Billy’s chest, thumb falling into the dip of his largest scar. His heart was hammering in the palm of Steve’s hand.

He tossed his hair back off his forehead, looking down at Billy soft and serious.

“Billy. I want you to like it. You have to tell me when you don’t like something, and I won’t do it, okay?”

Billy’s lip lifted in a sneer, hands tightening punishingly over Steve’s hips.

“It doesn’t matter if I like it. This is my job. I’m still hard for you, aren’t I?” he raised his hips in a sharp, rough thrust in demonstration, “I’m not a fucking pussy, Harrington. I can take whatever you wanna dish out. Whatever it is, I guarantee I’ve had worse.”

Steve studied him, hyperaware of the firm shape of Billy pressed inside him while he watched Steve with wary eyes, shoulders tense and slightly lifted.

His heart pounded as he realized that he had stumbled onto a minefield.

He chose his words carefully, speaking slowly and clearly, picking his way around Billy’s detonators.

“I know you can. You’re strong, and smart, and capable. But you also matter to me, and I want you to enjoy the things we do together.”

Billy’s mouth held position, but the tiny muscles around his eyes gave way, softening and widening as he stared up at Steve. His fingers released some of the pressure around his hips.

Steve wet his lips with his tongue, taking a leap in what he hoped was the right direction.

“Besides, I’m getting tired up here, doing all the work. I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take control.”

See, maybe Steve wasn’t very smart, but he had the devils’ own luck when it came to making blind leaps.

Ding ding ding, jackpot.

The flame lit back in Billy’s eyes, teeth flashing white before he flipped them over, the breath whooshing out of Steve’s chest as his back hit the mattress hard.

They didn’t get another chance to talk about it, Billy made sure that his mouth was much too busy for that.

Still, Steve kept turning it over in his mind, even days afterwards. Even though they had fucked three different ways since then without a hitch.

He kept poking at it like a loose tooth, trying to wiggle out a solution.

The solution eventually came from the least likely of Steve’s sources, the library.

Yeah, the fucking library. Steve read a book, on purpose, like a nerd.

Billy eyed him warily as he sat at the dining table after work on a Wednesday, put down a legal pad and ink pen, and rolled up his sleeves.

Steve tried to make his posture open and non-threatening, only succeeding in making himself look slightly constipated if Billy’s expression was anything to go by.

He gestured at the chair across from him, wincing internally at his own jerky, awkward movements.

“Grab a seat, I think it’s time we had a talk.”

Billy froze, going ramrod straight before melting into a forced swagger, shoulders loose and hips cocked. He nodded with a dry little laugh, looking at the wall over Steve’s head.

“I get it. I can be out of your hair in an hour, Harrington.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes, sighing quietly instead. He tapped the pen against the table in front of the chair across from him.

“Nope. Not even close. Come on, just sit down and we’ll talk. I promise I won’t bite.”

Billy’s lips instantly lifted into a smile that was visibly holding back the words ’unless you ask me to’ and Steve relaxed a little, offering a smile in return.

Billy approached the table, eyeing the chair like he wasn’t sure how to go about the process of sitting in it, like he wasn’t sure if he trusted it to hold him.

Steve chewed on the pen while he took a seat, sprawling low exactly the same way Steve had once seen him waiting on the bench outside of the principal’s office.

He cleared his throat, tried to stop halfway through, and ended up coughing a little on his own spit. Billy witnessed the entire humiliating process with expectant eyebrows.

Steve plowed ahead, holding the pen between the fingers of both hands like he was conducting a business meeting.

“I’ve been doing some reading.”

Billy sat up to rest his elbow on the table, propping his chin on the heel of his hand as he looked Steve up and down with mocking eyes.

“Holy shit, did you hurt yourself? Or are you asking me to help you sound out some of the words, princess?”

And that shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. It was just Billy backed into a corner, lashing out with meaningless shit-talk like he always did.

But.

Maybe Steve had struggled, a little, with some of the words. The library had a section on human sexuality and relationships and Steve had taken two of the heavy, intimidating books back to his office to try and make sure he was doing the right thing, and.

And, fuck.

Whoever wrote those books obviously didn’t want anyone reading them because they used long, complicated words and tiny print that seemed to wiggle and slide all over the page and Steve had been near tears by the time he felt like he had read enough to confirm his instincts.

So, fuck Billy for aiming his dart right at the chink in Steve’s armor, because that shit hurt like he was bleeding internally.

He stared down at the paper in front of him.

“I read some stuff that suggested we sit down and have a talk about our limits, write them down in black and white so we don’t have any more misunderstandings.”

When he looked back up, Billy had a face like a switchblade, pointed sharply in Steve’s direction.

“Are you doing this shit because I wussed out the other night? I told you, it won’t happen again, I’m not some girl. You can do whatever the fuck you want to me. That’s the whole point of buying my ass, right?”

Minefield.

But Steve knew that going in, this time. He was on the alert already.

He let the tip of his pen touch the paper, leaving a tiny black dot of ink at the top left margin.

“I think we need to make things clear, to be certain that everyone is having a good time. That’s what I want to do with you. Have a good time. Both of us.”

Billy sat back in his chair, fingers drumming absently on the edge of the table.

“This is like, your thing with the lights? You wanna tell me all your stuff like that so I don’t fuck it up?”

Steve seized on the glimmer of compliance, leaning forward with a nodding smile.

Christ, he must look like a bobble head doll.

“Yeah, exactly. Like a list of dos and don’ts.”

Billy’s fingers slid across the edge of the glass, tilting his chin down to consider Steve through narrowed, cautious eyes.

“Just for you, though, right? Because you’re the client, or whatever.”

Did bobble heads shake their head no, too? Because, if so, Steve had that shit down-pat.

“No. God, no. It only works if we both contribute.”

Billy’s arms crossed over his chest like a vault door slamming closed, sinking lower in his chair with a sneer.

“Wow, that’s a high dollar word for Steve ’the hair’ halfwit Harrington.”

Steve had been patient, and careful, and considerate of Billy’s bottled-up bullshit, but.

He wasn’t a fucking saint, okay?

He dropped the pen onto the table to run his hands through his hair, voice crisp with exasperation.

“Okay. So, yeah. That’s my first one. You can’t call me stupid. Or idiot or moron or fucking halfwit, you dick. Not in the bedroom.”

Billy scoffed, sucking his teeth obnoxiously.

“Can’t handle a little constructive criticism, sweetheart?”

Steve picked up the pen to point it at Billy, splaying his other hand out on the paper to push half out of his seat.

“And we don’t have to explain why we don’t like something. If it’s on the list, it doesn’t happen. Period.”

Billy turned his head like he was checking the kitchen clock, unable to hide the way he was still watching Steve out of the corner of his eye, knee jittering under the table.

“You’re serious with this pussy shit?”

Steve remembered, vividly, the look on Billy’s face when he had called him that in the bathroom. Like Steve had reached inside his chest and twisted.

Minefield.

He picked up the pen, making sure that Billy saw him write down his first limit under a column labeled ’Steve’.

“Dead serious. I told you one of mine. Now it’s your turn.”

Billy chewed on his words for a while before spitting them out quickly and angrily onto the table between them.

“Don’t hold me down. Or fucking gag me or cover my mouth, not with anything. Ever. I hate that shit.”

He flicked his eyes over to Steve, jaw set like he was expecting a fight, expecting to be denied.

Steve had a whole closet full of nail-studded hell-bats ready to take out whatever low-life shitstain had let Billy think that he couldn’t ask for comfort in the bedroom.

“Good. That’s good. Thank you for telling me. What else?”

Billy’s foot nudged him under the table, pulling his kick just short enough for Steve to know it hadn’t been intended to hurt.

“Nuh-uh, princess. Your turn.”

Steve’s toes were right up against the ledge, looking down at a fall so steep he knew there was no turning back. He took a deep breath, and stepped out onto open air.

“I don’t like to be hit, especially not in the face. Not even a slap. And, uh. Rope. I don’t like to be tied up. Holding me down with your hands is fine, I like that, but rope makes me want to puke.”

Something complicated flickered across Billy’s face, but he nodded as he sank lower in his chair.

Steve waited silently, giving Billy his full attention as he remained silent for several beats before relenting with a put-upon sigh.

“I don’t like being told what to do in bed. I like to be in charge. I know that doesn’t exactly mesh with my job description, but you fucking asked, so.”

That sent a frisson of electricity through Steve’s veins, flashes of Billy taking charge running through his mind. He wrote it down with a grin, looking up at Billy through his eyelashes.

“Great. That’s perfect, actually. Because I don’t always like to be in charge in the bedroom.”

Billy laughed soft and low, tongue poking out teasingly in Steve’s direction. Billy used his tongue the way some people talked with their hands, like he just couldn’t express himself without it.

“I know, baby. You just want to be taken care of.”

It sounded so stupid when he said it like that. Selfish.

Steve’s grin fell away as he shuffled the papers, trying to hide the splotchy blush creeping up his neck.

Billy’s hand crept across the table, touching him lightly, just once, on the knob of bone at his wrist.

“Hey, no. I really like that. About you.”

Steve knew he looked like a dope, wide-eyed and smiling softly. Billy looked back at him like he’d been hit on the head, shaking himself slightly as he pulled his hand away and stared down at the table.

Steve tapped the end of his pen on the paper, trying to remind himself of the seriousness of the situation.

“Can you think of anything else?”

Billy crossed his arms back over his chest, so low in his chair now that Steve half expected him to hook his chin onto the table to keep from sliding under.

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t like to be called names.”

That one hurt, a little. Steve had really thought that Billy was okay with that, given how they dripped from his tongue like honey every time they got something started. Baby. Princess. Sweetheart.

Pretty boy.

“Sure, okay. What kind of names? Like, um, baby, and stuff?”

Steve’s heart sank at the thought that every time he’d let an endearment slip, Billy might have been cringing inside.

Billy shook his head once, sharp, sitting up just enough for Steve to see the way his hands took a white knuckled grip on the fabric of his sleeves.

“Nah, that’s alright, I like that. I mean ugly shit like, uh. Pussy. Fairy. Queer,” he dropped his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw, “Faggot. Whore.”

Steve sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, concentrating on writing it down as his throat thickened with the sudden and complete certainty that Billy was speaking from experience.

He looked back up at Billy, trying to pour every ounce of sincerity into his eyes.

“I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”

Billy huffed out a quick, angry breath, tipping the legs of his chair back from the table and looking down at the legal pad.

“I do now, since you wrote that shit down.”

Steve powered through before he lost momentum, trying to hit all of his points while he had Billy sat in front of him, more or less cooperating with operation ’talk shit out for once’.

He was careful to keep his tone casual, trying not to influence Billy’s answer.

“I was wondering how you felt about bottoming? Like, is it something you don’t enjoy or is it just not usually your preference?”

Billy shrugged, heel tapping under the table in a quick, nervous rhythm. Steve paused, waiting for an answer that wasn’t forthcoming. Billy seemed very interested in reading the columns on Steve’s paper upside down. Steve could barely read the right way up, so he was impressed even as he soldiered on.

“Okay, well. I prefer it, obviously. But I’m willing to switch it up if you ever wanted to.”

Billy’s jaw tensed, mouth lined in unhappy parentheses. Steve wobbled the pen in the air between them as if to demonstrate his flexibility.

“Or I’m happy to keep going the way we are. It’s been great. I just wanted to let you know that I’m flexible, in that area.”

Billy’s smile returned at half force, eyebrows raising as he burst out laughing.

“Oh, sweetheart, I think I know exactly how flexible you are in that area.”

Steve rolled his eyes, capping the pen and dropping it onto the paper so he could throw his hands in the air.

“Yeah, Yeah. Laugh it up. I brought that on myself.”

It seemed like this would be a good time to drop the subject, all of Billy’s signals screaming at Steve to back down.

So, of course, he couldn’t do that. Because Steve was an ass.

“So, just so we’re clear, do you ever enjoy it that way?”

Billy considered Steve for a long moment before rubbing his hand through his curls, shaking them out of place.

“You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

Well, now he definitely wanted to know the answer to that. There was no faster way to get Steve interested in something than to tell him he couldn’t have it. That was how all his shit started with Nancy Wheeler.

It was a fatal flaw, or whatever.

“Sure I do. I asked, didn’t I?”

If someone had read the definition of a smile in a dictionary and never actually seen one in person before, they might have called the expression on Billy’s face a smile.

“Yeah. But that doesn’t mean you actually want to know.”

Steve had a tendency to get roped into petty arguments that ended up with rounds of ’nuh-uh’ and ’yeah-huh’ until everyone forgot what they were arguing about in the first place.

It was a fatal flaw. Or, one of his fatal flaws. Amongst his many fatal flaws.

He threw his hands out at his shoulders, staring Billy down.

“Yes, it does!”

Billy kicked the chair next to Steve so hard that it teetered over onto the floor with a crash of metal against tile, teeth bared in such a threatening way that even that person who had never seen a smile would think ’nah, that’s not it’ before prudently running away.

“No. It fucking doesn’t. You don’t want to know because it’s not pretty. And you like it when things are pretty, don’t you, Harrington?”

And, like. Yeah?

Who doesn’t like pretty things? Billy sure acted like he did. He said it a lot. Pretty.

Pretty boy.

But the way he said that, just now, it didn’t sound good. It sounded awful, like Steve was guilty of some crime.

“What do you mean?”

Billy looked around the room in exaggerated, sarcastic awe before turning back to Steve with a sneer, ticking items off on his hand.

His nails were bitten to the quick.

“I mean the car, the apartment, the clothes and jewelry and the fucking Opera, treating me like I’m your goddamned mistress instead of street trash.”

It was like something in Steve deflated. Something that had been puffed up with warmth from being able to give Billy nice things, from seeing him appreciate and enjoy them.

He felt hollow in the absence of it.

“I like treating you well. And you’re not trash. You’re a huge fucking asshole, sometimes, but you’re not trash.”

Billy wouldn’t look at him, working his jaw at the ceiling like he was going to challenge the plaster to a fist fight. Like he knew he couldn’t win and was going down swinging anyway.

“It’s been a real change of pace for me, alright? I don’t always know how to handle it. My usual clientele prefers rubbing my face in the dirt to decking me out in fucking diamonds. You’re the first idio-,” his eyes fell to Steve and then kept going all the way down to stare at the surface of the table, “the first guy who ever gave half a shit what I wanted.”

And, that.

It made Steve’s blood boil. He had seen the state of Billy when he brought him home, bruised ribs and cracked knuckles. He didn’t think the face in the dirt thing was figurative.

But Billy was wrong. Steve didn’t give half a shit.

He gave, like, so many shits.

Billy shifted in his chair, hands fisting the material of his sleeves again, twisting it between his fingers while Steve considered the merits of cleaning up Billy’s old haunts like some vigilante Batman knockoff. Just fucking wailing on the degenerate chicken-shits who got their rocks off beating up guys like Billy.

Ha. Bat-man.

He must have been quiet long enough to actually, for once, successfully wait Billy out. He started talking again, low and slow like he was spilling a secret out onto the table between them.

“The truth is, I don’t know if I like it because I’ve never bottomed on purpose. I mean, I’ve never done it because I wanted to. Only when I had to. And it, fucking. It hurts that way. It’s humiliating and degrading and the first time was so bad it made me hurl, right there in the gutter while the bastard was still plowing away.”

He was breathing hard, eyes wild and teeth mangling his lower lip until Steve started to worry that he would draw blood.

Steve felt like he was bleeding, himself. Like Billy had sliced him open right down the middle.

“That what you wanted to know, princess? Don’t worry, I’ll roll over for you real sweet if you ever want to fuck me. You’ve certainly paid more than anyone else ever did for the privilege of spreading my legs. And, besides, it’s not like you aren’t already a pain in my ass, you know?”

He smiled weakly at his own joke, waiting for Steve to laugh.

Steve had never felt less like laughing.

He picked up the pen, moving like his joints ached. Like his everything ached for Billy, from the inside out.

He wrote down ’no bottoming’ in Billy’s column, holding up a finger when he started to protest.

Steve met his eyes, letting his voice soften and quiet, his hand creeping across the tabletop all on its own with some half-baked notion of taking Billy’s hand.

Billy headed that off by tucking his hands under his arms, watching Steve with suspicion.

“Okay, Billy. Thank you, for letting me know. And I want you to know. To like, really know, that I will never ask you to do that. The only way we’ll try it is if you ask me for it, and even then, it won’t be the way it was for you before. I will never,” his hand rolled into a fist on the table, fingers wrapped around an invisible bat,”I will never treat you the way those guys did. I’ll never touch you like that, do you understand?”

Billy shrugged, slouching in his chair like he couldn’t care less. Like his eyes weren’t hungry on Steve’s face, searching and sifting through his layers. Peeling him down to the naked, stinging truth.

He seemed to find something he was looking for, pulling his gaze away with a toss of his head.

“Yeah, alright. So, what do we get if we break the shit on your list? A hard right to the jaw? Punch in the breadbox? Kick in the nuts?”

Steve was getting whiplash from the change in tone, lighter now, but just serious enough for him to be uncertain if Billy really meant what he was saying.

He screwed up his face, combing his fingers through his hair and almost stabbing himself in the head with the pen.

“What? Fuck, no. Jesus. We just meet up like this again and talk things out. Like adults.”

Billy made a face like he was going to barf, pushing back from the table with a screech of protest from his chair.

“Gross. I’ll take the punch in the guts.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Characters actually talking things through? Ridiculous! 
> 
> I have more angst/relationship-building written. Should I add in a smut buffer?  
> Are y’all sick of feelings yet?
> 
> Also, I’ve upped the chapter count again. Whoops.


	12. I’ll make you so proud of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster struck at 7:36 pm on a Friday.
> 
> Actually, it struck earlier than that, but Steve only realized that it had struck at 7:36 when he noticed the blinking red light on his answering machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this mess has stretched on for so long that I’m running out of lyrics and I’m mixing in the song “Be My Little Baby” that was referenced in “Take Me Home Tonight”. I have so much more written for this, it’s going to need way more chapter titles than I had anticipated.
> 
> This is going to be angst/fluff for a bit but I’ll mix in more smut soon.

Disaster struck at 7:36 pm on a Friday.

Actually, it struck earlier than that, but Steve only realized that it had struck at 7:36 when he noticed the blinking red light on his answering machine.

Billy was laying on the couch in nothing but a pair of Steve’s sweatpants, reading a muscle magazine that had materialized in the apartment earlier in the week.

Having a new bespoke wardrobe had absolutely no effect on Billy’s tendency to steal Steve’s clothes for lounging around the apartment.

Steve couldn’t say that he minded, especially when he got a strange little possessive thrill every time he saw his pants drag on the ground or his shirts stretched out.

He wanted Billy to leave a mark.

So Steve had been feeling relaxed, still in his work clothes but missing his jacket and tie, padding around in sock feet when he pressed the button beside the blinking light.

Immediately, Dustin’s voice blasted out of the speaker, loud and excited, his words tangling together into exuberant, indecipherable puppy piles.

It took three play throughs for Steve to get the gist.

The gist being, disaster.

Billy had sat up on the couch, magazine open on his lap to a photo of an overly tanned and muscled oiled-up half naked dude that did not make Steve feel super great about his own physique.

Billy stood up and it occurred to Steve that, with those scars, Billy didn’t exactly fit into that magazine either, but Steve still thought that he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

It was as if the scars only enhanced his beauty. Like those ancient marble statues with some pieces missing. Billy had been carved in the image of a Greek god. That, what was his name? Adonis.

Fuck, Steve wanted to punch himself in the face just for the thought of it. He was pining, like a sophomore girl.

Pining for a man who slept in his bed, crawled between his legs every night and left him in ruins.

Billy was Vesuvius and Steve was Pompeii before the eruption. Except he knew exactly what was coming and didn’t have the sense to run.

What a dumbass.

Billy was watching him expectantly, magazine dangling from one hand and brow furrowed.

“You need me to split?”

Steve shook his head, planting his hands on his hips and staring at the ceiling, trying to think.

He couldn’t hide Billy.

First of all, it wouldn’t work. Dustin could sniff out a hint of mystery before Steve could get a lie out of his mouth.

Secondly, he didn’t want to.

Billy wasn’t something to hide, something to be ashamed of.

He was, frankly, the best part of Steve’s life.

Billy’s magazine fell to the coffee table with a slap.

“Okay, so, who the fuck is Dustin? And why the fuck does he talk like he’s on a ham radio?”

Steve couldn’t help smiling at that. It was almost a joke now, the way they always ended calls and messages with ’over and out’. It was also kind of not a joke at all, just like the fully charged walkie talkies packed in Steve’s go-bag, nestled between a machete and a roll of duct tape.

It never hurt to be prepared for another apocalypse.

Steve glanced at the clock in the kitchen.

Shit.

He spun on his heel, looking over the apartment for anything too embarrassing or incriminating.

Nobody needed to live through another personal lubricant incident.

The only things out were Billy and the evidence thereof, weights and tapes and magazines Steve would never touch.

“He’s a kid I used to babysit, kind of. You might remember him, he was friends with your-” he cut off abruptly at the brittle slice of pain across Billy’s face, “he was one of the kids I used to run around with back when we were chasing monsters. He’s studying engineering. And he, uh. He’s actually my best friend, now. So.”

Billy had turned his back at the word monsters, and Steve was left staring at the scars webbing his skin.

Steve’s bones felt like they were made of bees.

Billy reached down to the floor to pick up his discarded shirt, Steve’s old Hawkins basketball shirt.

Fuck.

He kept his back to Steve while he pulled it on, affecting a bored tone of voice that put Steve immediately on edge.

“You still keep in touch with those nerds, Harrington?”

Steve tucked his shirt in his pants as if Dustin gave a flying fuck about his appearance, patting his hair into place.

“They call themselves the Party, actually.”

Billy snorted derisively as he walked past Steve to wrench the fridge door open, pulling out a beer. He popped the cap off on the edge of the counter, like an asshole, catching the cap with one hand even as he lifted the beer to his lips with the other.

It was distressingly, irritatingly cool.

“Like any of them know how to fucking party.”

Steve made a sound that was meant to be a laugh but more closely resembled the disappointingly quiet release of air when he tried to pop a balloon and just ended up making it leak instead.

“Yeah, no. It’s a D&D term, from their games. You know, like, tabletop role playing games?”

Billy wiped his mouth off on his forearm, walking back to drop on the couch, holding his beer between his knees.

“That’s just about the saddest shit I’ve ever heard, and I’m a goddamned zombie hooker.”

Steve choked on his own spit, horrified laugh shocking it’s way from his throat in an uncontrollable spasm.

Billy picked at the label on his beer bottle, concentrating hard.

“You talk to all of them, still? Even the. Even the girls?”

Steve’s chest ached as he finally grasped where Billy was going with this.

One of Steve’s teachers had once said that he may be slow, but with enough time he could usually get there eventually.

He just hoped Billy would give him time.

He matched Billy’s tone, wandering over to sit on the other end of the couch, a full cushion between them, just like a couple of pals. Pals who fucked until they passed out in each other’s arms every night, like pals do.

“Not like, everyday. But we all keep in touch. Meet up when we can.”

Billy nodded, ripping jagged strips of wet paper from his bottle and balling them up between his index finger and thumb to litter Steve’s coffee table.

Steve chewed some dead skin off of his lip, trying to figure out the best way to approach. He felt a little like he was trying to bandage a wounded bear, more likely to do the both of them harm than any good.

“She’s doing really good. Got into the Police Academy in Indianapolis. Top of her class right now.”

Billy took a pull from his bottle, giving an exaggerated belch.

“Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Harrington.”

Steve took a deep breath, plunging ahead like he was jumping into a dark tunnel to another dimension, adrenaline kicking up and making his legs jitter, heels tapping the floor.

“Max. She’s doing great, Billy. You would be so proud of her.”

Billy finally looked at him, face raw with betrayal like Steve had just broken some unspoken agreement to never mention her name. He supposed that he had.

Billy tried to scab over that rawness with a sneer, eyes glinting like shards ofbroken porcelain.

“What makes you think I give a shit?”

He was trying, but the tough guy veneer was cracked wide open. Steve had already slept curled in the soft space between the cracks.

Steve considered putting a hand on his knee, resting it on the neutral ground of the cushion between them instead.

“Billy.”

Billy shook his head, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. He looked like he was going to throw up, face pale and knuckles bloodless.

“Yeah, okay. And the, uh, the other one?”

Steve tilted his head, feeling slow again, struggling to catch up.

“El? She’s doing fine, man. Working through some stuff, but she’s really thriving with Mrs. Byers. That woman’s a miracle worker.”

Billy’s breath whooshed out of his chest like he had fallen from a great height, sudden and painful. His bottle clattered to the table, spilling beer as it rolled onto the floor, abandoned in favor of covering his face.

“I didn’t know. Wasn’t sure if she, if I had, you know.”

Steve couldn’t help it. His hand landed softly on Billy’s thigh, following as he flinched, biting back an awful choked sound in his throat.

He pitched his voice low, soft and private as he scooted across the cushion towards him.

“You saved her, Billy. You were amazing. You. You are amazing. I owe you so much, we all do.”

Billy shoved away from the couch, catching the beer bottle with the edge of his foot, sending it rolling and clinking under the table. His eyes were red but dry, glaring at Steve accusingly.

“You don’t owe me shit, asshole. Shut the fuck up.”

Steve stood to follow, stopping in place when Billy stumbled backwards over the table to get away from him, escaping down the hallway into Steve’s room, slamming the door behind him.

The scent of beer was bitter and strong, a cold puddle seeping across the tile to soak into the bottom of Steve’s socks.

The intercom dinged, Dustin’s voice cheerfully requesting that Steve buzz him the hell up before he froze his nuts off.

Fucking perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild Dustin appears!
> 
> What is Steve going to do with Billy?


	13. Oh, since the day I saw you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both looked up at the sound of the bedroom door opening, Billy swaggering out in clean jeans and Steve’s mangled George Michael shirt, inexplicable toothpick clamped between his teeth.
> 
> “Hey, nerds. How’s it hanging?”
> 
> Dustin made a high-pitched whistling sound as he sucked in more air than his lungs could handle, grabbing onto Steve’s sleeve with both hands.
> 
> Steve covered his face with his fingers, like maybe this would all go away if he just couldn’t see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s a reveal in this chapter that I’ve been working up to for a long time, but it’s about a sensitive subject so I’m including a warning in the end notes. 
> 
> Shit gets complicated when it’s not just Billy and Steve getting it on every five seconds.
> 
> I think there will be some smut next chapter, though.

Dustin’s bright, smiling face fell the moment Steve opened the door, wrinkling up his nose as he tensed newly broadened shoulders under his plaid button down, eyes searching.

His arms, formerly held out in expectation of a manly hug, fell heavily to his sides, mouth a hard line of disappointment.

Steve rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, bare feet freezing and still damp with beer.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry it reeks in here, Billy spilled his beer and I just got it soaked up with a towel.”

Dustin wasn’t looking at him anymore, shoving past and scanning the apartment like he was already searching for clues, the dorky chest clip of his loaded backpack fastened tightly, thumbs hooked in the straps.

“Billy?”

Steve mentally planted his feet.

“Yeah man. So, I have some news.”

Dustin was definitely looking at him by the time he finished his very brief and sanitized explanation.

“Billy Hargrove? You think that Billy Hargrove is here, in your apartment? Steve. I think you had better sit down.”

He whipped out a miniature flashlight from one of the endless pockets of his backpack, reaching out to peel Steve’s eyelids up and shine the light directly into his eyeballs.

Steve flailed out of his reach, rubbing a hand over his sore eyes.

“Stop! Jesus Christ, Henderson. I’m not hallucinating.”

He didn’t tell Dustin that that had been his first assumption as well.

“Mmhmm. Listen, just sit on the couch for me, okay, buddy? I’ve gotta go do something real quick.”

Steve pushed away his guiding hands and Dustin kept bringing them back up to hold onto Steve’s arms until they devolved into a slap fight.

“Just take a fucking seat, Steve!”

Slap. Slap. Slap.

“No! Stop trying to move me, I told you I’m fine!”

Slap. Duck. Slap.

“Fine? You’re fine? You don’t answer your phone or return my calls, and then when I finally make it over here your apartment smells like a goddamned frat house! And not a good frat house, Steve, with high academic standards. No, your shit smells like cheap cologne and cigarettes and beer, like eau de Asshole Beta Douchebag! And then you look me in the eye and tell me that you think a dead guy is in your apartment with us. Sit the fuck down, I’m calling in reinforcements!”

Suddenly Steve’s recent conversation with Billy about the phone seemed a lot more important.

Steve had started to notice that he was getting fewer calls, and when he picked up the phone to investigate, he found that it had been unplugged from the wall for who knew how long.

When he questioned Billy about it, he had nonchalantly answered that he had unplugged it because it was ringing. Instead of answering it or hanging up like literally anyone else would have done.

And now, surprise, surprise, Billy’s bullshit was going to bite Steve on the ass.

Steve held out his hands between them, making his eyes as wide and innocent as he could.

“Okay, I know it looks bad.”

Dustin was giving him a hard look, or, what passed for a hard look on his sweet face, eyebrows low with suspicion and mouth drawn down in disappointment.

“Smells bad, Steve. Something literally stinks about this whole situation.”

It was difficult, for Steve to see that particular disappointment on that particular face. Again.

It brought up buried memories of darker days. Of desperation and self-destruction.

They both looked up at the sound of the bedroom door opening, Billy swaggering out in clean jeans and Steve’s mangled George Michael shirt, inexplicable toothpick clamped between his teeth.

“Hey, nerds. How’s it hanging?”

Dustin made a high-pitched whistling sound as he sucked in more air than his lungs could handle, grabbing onto Steve’s sleeve with both hands.

Steve covered his face with his fingers, like maybe this would all go away if he just couldn’t see it.

Billy sauntered past, sending Dustin scrambling backwards when he feinted in his direction on the way to the fridge, nonchalantly grabbing another beer and performing his countertop cap trick again.

Dustin shook Steve’s arm insistently.

“Steve! Steve. Are you seeing this? Steve?”

Steve smoothed his hand over Dustin’s shoulder with a reassuring squeeze. He kind of couldn’t believe that it was the same height as his own shoulder, now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. I told you. We met up here in Chicago, and now he works for me.”

Dustin was still trying to hide behind Steve, peeking at Billy over his shoulder.

Billy offered a smile full of shark teeth and Dustin squeaked, hissing into Steve’s ear.

He jerked his head away as a spray of spit hit him.

“Steve! There’s a fucking zombie in your goddamned house! We’ve gotta do something! This shit is not normal!”

Steve spun in place, holding Dustin by the arms and looking in his wide eyes.

“Henderson. Dude. When has our shit ever been normal?”

Dustin actually took time to consider this, squinting one eye in what Steve thought of as his ’thinking face’.

“You make a surprisingly valid point.”

Steve clapped him on the back encouragingly.

“See? You gotta trust me, man. I know what I’m doing.”

That was a lie. Steve definitely didn’t know what he was doing.

Like, at all. In general. And specifically, with Billy.

Dustin unclipped his backpack, setting it down on the bar top with a heavy thud, still squinting suspiciously at Billy.

“Yeah, but, why is he here, again? Like, here in your apartment, here?”

Billy had obviously grown tired of being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room, staring Dustin down with his jaw jutted even as he took a swig of beer.

“I work for him.”

Steve jumped in with enthusiasm that read as false even to himself. He was starting to sweat under the collar, palms damp.

“Yeah, he. Yup. I found him a position in the company.”

Neither acknowledged that he had spoken, caught in a bizarre, silent standoff.

Seeing Dustin and Billy stare at each other, it was like watching the two very separate halves of his life collide in an explosion of cosmic proportions.

Although, the last time Steve had seen the end of the world, it had been much, much noisier.

Billy cut his eyes to Steve, lips tilted up with a mocking lilt to his voice.

“Oh, don’t be modest, Harrington. You found me lots of positions.”

Steve turned his back to Billy, ignoring the prickling blush creeping up his neck. It was like he could feel the heat of that sharp smile between his shoulder blades.

“Let me take you out for dinner!”

Dustin made a face at Steve’s volume and the possibly deranged smile plastered on his face as he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his shit, and led them out of the apartment, practically pushing Dustin in front of him while he skidded reluctantly on his heels like a cartoon character.

Dustin picked up the empty wine glasses as soon as they sat down, holding them out for the waitress to take with a charming smile.

He was really putting those teeth to good use.

Steve opened his menu, concentrating on the entrees.

“The pork tenderloin is supposed to be amazing.”

Dustin hooked his fingers over the top of Steve’s menu, pulling it down as he raised one eyebrow.

“Are we just not going to discuss the fact that you have a dead man in your apartment? Seriously, Steve?”

Steve looked around frantically, suddenly worried that they were going to be overheard.

“Don’t say that like I’m hiding a body or something, Jesus, man.”

A waitress carried a fragrant tray of perfectly cooked steak past the table and Steve was assaulted by the memory of hiding the rancid, slimy body of a demodog in Joyce Byers’ freezer. He flipped the menu to the vegetarian section with a very slightly shaking hand.

“I told you, he works for me. I’ll admit I was surprised when we ran into each other, but it’s hardly the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Dustin laughed, Steve marveling over the fact that it was still pure, and genuine, and had never gained the brittle edge that Steve had gotten after Starcourt.

Henderson was amazing, that way. Resilient. He reminded Steve that there were good things in the world.

He shook his head ruefully, curls bouncing against his forehead.

Steve was so glad he had talked him into ditching the cap.

“No, it’s not the weirdest thing. Not by a long shot. Still, you gotta admit, pretty fucking weird.”

Steve held out his hands in a ’what can you do?’ gesture that Dustin countered with a ’you tell me’ shrug.

Dustin traced lines in the condensation of his glass that Steve was impressed with himself for noticing were elvish runes, from Tolkien.

He hadn’t read the books, but he had sat down with the Party and watched the weird animated movie a few dozen times.

He didn’t hate it. It was actually kind of cool.

Dustin wasn’t meeting his eye, which was never a good sign. Steve braced for whatever was coming.

“So you and Billy, you were, what? Grabbing a couple beers after work or some shit?”

Dustin asked it so casually and off the cuff that Steve knew for a fact he had been practicing the question in his head for the entire drive.

He leaned back in his chair, waiting for Dustin to look up at him before answering quietly, vehemently.

“Ten months sober this week, man. I haven’t touched a fucking drop, I swear.”

Some of the tension went out of Dustin’s face, still sweetly rounded with the last stubborn vestiges of baby fat. Steve was gonna goddamned cry when he came over one day with a chiseled jawline, fuck.

He offered Steve a small, sincere smile.

“Sobriety is a really good look on you, Steve. Really, really good.”

Steve couldn’t look at his face for long, feeling undeserving of the pride shining through like sunlight through a windowpane.

“Thanks, buddy.”

They each grabbed a breadstick by silent mutual agreement and took a moment to munch on their food, pretending that nobody had a lump in their throat.

Pretending that they weren’t both reliving the day Dustin had smashed Steve’s three thousand dollar liquor cabinet with a baseball bat, screaming ’you’re killing yourself, you son of a bitch!’, tears and snot running down his face.

Maybe it was just Steve reliving that. Every time he looked at a bottle.

Fuck.

Steve really didn’t want to lie to him. No more secrets, they had agreed.

He speared his tortellini, chewing thoughtfully before dropping the bomb.

“Billy was at my apartment because he lives with me.”

Dustin did a spit-take, making Steve laugh even as he winced and wiped secondhand Sprite off his face.

Christ, he missed Henderson.

“Billy ’psycho-zombie’ Hargrove is your motherfucking roommate!? What the fuck, Steve?”

Steve pointed at him with his fork, trying not to feel like a scolding mom and failing miserably.

“Hey, cool it with that shit. Remember when people called Will ’zombie boy’?”

Dustin slid lower in his seat, sullen and chastised. His shirt was damp down the front with Sprite. Steve was going to have to remember to rinse it out before throwing it in the laundry.

“Yeah, but Will’s not a complete asshole.”

Steve pointed at him again, talking around the lump of pasta he had just shoved in his mouth.

“Fair point.”

There was something there, in Dustin’s face, that Steve wasn’t used to seeing aimed in his direction. Something with an edge to it that he matched in his voice.

“What, you’re not gonna defend your new best friend Billy?”

Jealousy. It was jealousy.

Steve rolled his eyes in exasperation, already done with this line of questioning. Dustin was his best friend, period. Through thick and thin. They both knew it, and Steve wasn’t about to sit there and spell it out.

“Just because he’s my friend doesn’t make him less of an asshole. People can be friends with complete assholes. Look at you, sitting here and being friends with me. See? It’s not that hard.”

Dustin’s face fell a little, sadness creeping in at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re not a COMPLETE asshole, Steve.”

God, Steve really wished that were true. The way Dustin cut his eyes guiltily away meant that he was likely wishing the same thing.

Dustin sat up straight with a gasp, pointing at Steve across the table like he was making a dramatic accusation in a tv court drama.

“You complete asshole! Did you give him my room, you traitor? Has Billy Hargrove invaded the Cave of Awesomeness? Oh, my god. Now all my shit is going to smell like hair gel and testosterone, Steve! How could you do this to me? Me, your best guy, your little buddy, the brain to your brawn?”

No more lies. No more secrets.

Fuck.

Steve thought about it, remembering the way he had meandered casually out of the closet two years ago when he finally noticed what was eating poor Will.

The way Dustin’s eyes had bugged out of his head, jaw dropped. The way Will had sent him a shy, grateful smile.

“Wow, so, boys and girls, huh? Like, both?”

Dustin had asked, practically pulling out a pen and paper to start taking notes. Steve hadn’t wanted to think about the research journey he was no doubt preparing to embark on. That poor librarian.

“Yeah, man. Twice the chances to get lucky, that way.”

He had played it off with a wink, like it was some kind of douchebag dating strategy and not a facet of his identity that he had struggled with for years.

“Twice the chances to strike out, you mean!” Dustin had countered, guffawing in his face.

And Steve had been so fucking grateful.

Henderson was such a good kid.

So now, he weighed the pros and cons of lying to Dustin. The biggest con being that Steve sucked at lying and Dustin would know and wouldn’t be able to drop it until he uncovered the truth. Scooby doo little asshole that he was.

Not really worth the fuss. So, he told the truth.

“He stays with me, actually, in my room. Because we’re fucking.”

At first Steve thought that Dustin’s gagging noises were entirely fake until he finally realized that he was choking on his food, scrambling over the table to pound on his back until he spat out a lump of half-chewed chicken and took a deep breath.

Their very cute waitress came by to check on them, which Steve enjoyed mightily because there was nothing funnier than a red-faced Dustin dealing with a pretty girl.

Steve really wished he had his camcorder.

That shit was priceless.

He sipped at his water as Dustin stared him down, tapping his knuckles against the Sprite and chicken dotted tablecloth.

“You and Billy? That’s like, super gross, man.”

Something sharp dislodged in Steve’s chest and it must have shown on his face because Dustin rushed to qualify.

“Not because he’s a dude. Obviously. You know you have my complete support however you choose to express your sexuality,” and Steve could just see the passages highlighted in some human sexuality or psychology textbook that Dustin must have pored over for that, “it’s gross because Billy’s gross. He’s like, the grossest, man. The most gross. You could do so much better.”

He wasn’t wrong in that Billy could be very gross when he wanted to be, often unapologetically so.

But.

He was also very, very wrong.

He had never seen the way Billy stood over a stove making beautiful, complicated dishes, or the way he cleaned the apartment until it shone, or the way he held Steve’s fragile, shivering body after a nightmare.

Steve really, really couldn’t do better.

Because there was nothing better than that.

“So, like, I know he was pretty bad back in the day,” Dustin scoffed, leaning back in his chair with lifted brows, “but he’s been through some shit, man. More shit than the rest of us, even. I’d actually really appreciate it if you could give him a chance.”

Dustin nodded after a moment of watching Steve in tense, waiting silence.

“Only for you, buddy. It’s going to suck balls, but I’ll do it.”

Steve smiled, starting to thank him when Dustin cut him off, leaning forward over the table, planting his elbow squarely in his mashed potatoes.

“But if I see any creepy zombie shit, I’m calling an official Party meeting.”

Steve offered his hand to shake, both of them embellishing it until it no longer resembled a handshake in any way.

Steve was smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt.

“Deal, Henderson.”

As they were winding down, Steve quietly asked the waitress to pack up an order of the steak special to go, as rare as they could make it, turning back to find Dustin scrutinizing him closely.

“What?” he sighed heavily, already done with this shit, whatever it was.

Dustin cocked his head, steepling his fingers under his chin like he was Sherlock fucking Holmes in dirty jeans and battered sneakers.

“You’re fucking in love with him, aren’t you?”

Steve shrugged, and scoffed, and shrugged again, crossing his arms and looking away.

“What? No. Maybe? No. Shit, I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

He grimaced as Dustin reached his long bendy arm across the table to pat the top of his head, eyes soft and indulgent.

“Oh, Steve. You beautiful idiot. If he fucks you up I’m going to poison his ass and throw him in the quarry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Implied/referenced alcoholism
> 
> So, who saw that coming?


	14. And if I had the chance I’d never let you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not much of a story. We were alone, and then we found each other,” he glanced up to find that Billy had lowered his can, staring at Steve with an inscrutable look, “We each had something the other needed, and now here we are, together.”
> 
> “Happily ever after, the end!” Dustin cackled, pushing his sock feet up against Steve’s.
> 
> Steve couldn’t look at Billy, painfully aware of his gaze on the side of his face. His heart was pounding, for some stupid reason.
> 
> “Yeah. Something along those lines.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, bonding, feels, smut, Billy being gross. Check. 
> 
> Idiots in love, double check.

Dustin had been right, it did smell like a frat house.

The smell of cigarettes was even stronger than the smell of beer, now, though.

In fact, it kind of smelled like Billy had lit up as soon as they left and just hadn’t stopped. There was a slight haze of smoke in the air when Steve opened the door.

Dustin coughed and went to open the balcony doors, letting in cold, fresh air.

He never had been able to stand the smell of cigarettes. Steve had tried to quit for him, but.

Something else more pressing had come up. Steve could only give up so many vices before he fell completely apart.

Dustin had eased up on nagging him about the cigarettes after he’d found Steve choking on his own vomit and decided they had bigger problems.

Fuck. Don’t think about that, not now.

Nopenopenopenope.

Steve turned to the television at the swell of familiar instrumentals.

Billy was draped across the couch, watching Star Wars.

Watching Steve, now, eyes glinting in the low light of the tv.

Steve held up his to-go bag, feeling like an asshole for not inviting Billy along with them. He had just needed a moment with Dustin alone, to straighten things out without Billy inserting his caustic wit into everything.

“I got you the steak. Sorry it’s so late.”

Billy sat up, making room on the couch that Dustin immediately occupied, a bag of potato chips having somehow materialized in his hands.

“A New Hope? Fucking awesome, dude! Steve, lets have a marathon!”

Steve set the bag down on the kitchen counter, pulling out a plate and silverware and serving it out before bringing it to Billy.

He already had a fresh beer in front of him, and three empty bottles on the table.

Steve sat between them, leaning back to lay his arms over the back of the couch as Billy leaned forward and tore into his food, Dustin’s crunching loud in his ear.

The boy was a bottomless pit. Steve wasn’t convinced that he didn’t have one last growth spurt left in him.

He gripped Dustin loosely around the back of his neck, squeezing once before letting go.

“I dunno, man. It’s kind of late. Maybe tomorrow, if you want?”

Dustin sighed dramatically, knocking his head back against Steve’s hand behind him.

“Alright, old man. Don’t want you to miss your eight o’clock bedtime.”

It was close to ten, already. But, whatever.

Billy spoke around a mouthful of steak, hunched over his plate as he turned his head in Dustin’s direction.

“You staying here, shithead?”

Dustin looked at Steve like Billy was his dog who had just started talking out of the blue. Steve just stared back, waiting for him to acknowledge Billy.

Which he did, finally, awkwardly trying to insert a casual note into his voice but still squeaking just a little.

“Uh, yeah. Just for tonight. I mean, if that’s okay. I don’t want to disturb your lovenest, or whatever.”

Billy coughed on a piece of asparagus, shooting Steve a surprised look.

Steve shrugged, trying not to feel like an asshole and failing.

“Yeah, I told him that we’re, uh, together. So.”

Billy watched him while he chewed, eyes measuring before flicking over to Dustin.

“Less of a lovenest and more of a fuckpit.”

Dustin froze with his chip in the air, going scarlet as he turned to Steve accusingly.

“Steeeeeeeve that’s so groooooooss!”

Steve kicked Billy, who started laughing around his steak, gulping down some beer before leaning back on the couch.

His arm rested comfortably across Billy’s shoulders, and it felt somehow more intimate than Billy’s dick in his mouth that morning.

Like Billy belonged there, in Steve’s arms.

He let his hand relax into a curve, slowly, slowly cupping around Billy’s shoulder.

Billy tensed, eyes cutting to Steve, and for a moment he expected to be thrown off, but then Billy settled against him, pressed warm against his side.

It was.

It was fucking fantastic, actually.

Dustin was oblivious to Steve’s emotional triumph in building Billy’s trust.

He was too busy shouting at the television, scattering chips all over the sofa as he got up to go to the fridge, returning with an armful of sodas that he distributed amongst them.

Billy took his with a bemused look on his face, like he hadn’t expected to be included.

Steve felt like a jerk.

Billy sat up a little to crack open his soda, Steve’s arm growing cold immediately in his absence.

He dug his elbow into Steve’s side, gesturing at the screen with his can.

“Alright, Harrington. Who would you rather bang? Luke or Leia?”

Dustin leaned forward with a gleefully expectant look on his face, obviously thrilled to see Steve engaged in a Star Wars debate, no matter how inane.

“Well, Steve? Don’t keep us in suspense!”

And, if Steve was being honest, he wasn’t super into either one.

Han Solo, though. Absolutely. There was something about his bad boy persona concealing a heart of gold that just did it for Steve. Plus, his ass in those pants.

But that wasn’t the question, so.

“Luke, I guess.”

Steve had a thing for blondes, recently. There was no deeper thought into it.

He was a simple man.

Billy made a rude sound, slapping Steve in the chest with the back of his hand.

“No, man. Luke’s a fucking pussy. I would let Leia ride me into the goddamned ground. She’s got the biggest balls. Besides, brunettes are way hotter!”

Dustin cheered at Steve’s side, holding his soda can out for Billy to knock his against, both of them managing to spill sticky carbonated sugar water on Steve’s pants.

“That’s right, dude! Leia all the way! She’s beautiful, badass, and got the brains to match. Can’t beat that! See, I knew Billy had good taste. He’s with you, isn’t he?”

The amazing thing about Henderson was his completely sincere and unselfconscious affection, for all of his friends and family.

It was, frankly, heartwarming.

And, in Steve’s case, entirely undeserved.

Dustin looked back and forth between Billy and Steve, chewing on his lip before the words burst out of him like he just couldn’t contain them any longer.

“So. How’d you guys get together, anyway?”

Billy met Steve’s eye, chin jutting forward in a move that had not, historically, meant anything good for Steve. He didn’t look away as he answered Dustin, cool-guy drawl in full force.

“Harrington picked me up off a dirty streetcorner one night and paid me to suck his dick.”

Dustin flailed in disgust, spilling the last of his chips over the minuscule area that he hadn’t already managed to cover on the couch.

“Gross, dude. Are you ever not an asshole for like, two seconds? If you didn’t want to tell me, just say that. Shit. Ugh, now I want to bleach my brain.”

Billy leaned around Steve, sticking his tongue out at Dustin, a genuine smile lighting his eyes.

“Ask him how much he pays me to lay some pipe on the daily. It’s obscene.”

Dustin threw his empty chip bag at Billy, who batted it away, laughing. Mostly they just managed to get Steve covered in crumbs.

“Oh my god, stop! Why are you like this? Geez, I’m sorry I asked, alright?”

Steve laughed even as it rang hollow, cold settling in his stomach like a stone as Billy watched him, eyes crinkled at the corners over the rim of his soda can.

He crushed his own empty can, crumpling it down in his fist just to have an excuse to look somewhere else, kicking his feet out to cross at the ankle.

“Not much of a story. We were alone, and then we found each other,” he glanced up to find that Billy had lowered his can, staring at Steve with an inscrutable look, “We each had something the other needed, and now here we are, together.”

“Happily ever after, the end!” Dustin cackled, pushing his sock feet up against Steve’s.

Steve couldn’t look at Billy, painfully aware of his gaze on the side of his face. His heart was pounding, for some stupid reason.

“Yeah. Something along those lines.”

Billy belched loudly, leaning his head back to face the ceiling, pulling further away from Steve’s arm.

“At least until Harrington gets sick of me and kicks me to the curb. Or I find a better offer and skip town.”

That stone in his stomach was a boulder. Steve was being crushed from the inside.

Dustin bumped his shoulder into Steve’s, leaving it there like he was giving Steve something warm and solid to lean on.

“Definitely the first one. You’ll never find a better guy than Steve. Steve is, like, awesome! He’s the total package. Like, some people think he’s nothing but money and hair, but all that stuff’s just icing on the totally amazing Steve cake.”

And that was why Steve couldn’t let him down. Dustin was the only person who really, truly believed in him. He also believed in everything he was saying, with all of his heart.

Even if he was wrong.

“Alright, alright.Calm down, buddy. I think he’s pretty familiar with the kinda person I am.”

Shitty. He was a shitty person.

Billy pushed up from the sofa, climbing over the back of it like a dick instead of just walking around. He threw his crumpled can at Dustin, bouncing it off his head and inciting a flurry of curses, tossing his words over his shoulder.

“You’re probably right, assface.”

He didn’t return from the bedroom.

Steve watched the rest of the movie with Dustin before shoving him into the Cave with promises of more sci-fi in the morning.

Billy was sitting up in bed, naked down to the sheets bunched at his waist, reading a book.

A real, actual paperback book. Battered at the corners with stickers on it from the library.

He glanced up when Steve came in but went right back to reading while Steve got undressed and climbed beneath the covers.

He was exhausted, but with a jittery edge to it that he knew meant he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon.

Steve hesitated before turning on his side, curling up to face the wall.

Billy’s book hit the nightstand with a soft rustling sound just before he jabbed his finger into the back of Steve’s shoulder.

“You pissed that he found out your dirty little secret?”

Steve shook his head, clinging to his pillow and refusing to look at Billy.

Billy jabbed harder, rocking Steve back and forth.

“Then what the fuck has got your panties in a twist, pretty boy?”

Steve flopped onto his back, slapping Billy’s hand away as it came down to poke him once again.

“Some shit just came up that I didn’t want to think about, okay?”

Billy stretched out on his side, head propped up on his hand, his focus somewhere far away, voice soft.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Steve covered his face with his hands, immediately dropping them again when Billy started tugging at the sheets, pulling them down to reveal Steve’s plaid pajama pants, face twisting with disgust.

“What the fuck are those?”

Steve fiddled with the drawstring self-consciously. He kept them around for nights when the kids stayed over and hadn’t worn them in front of Billy yet.

“We have company, I can’t just walk around naked!”

Billy looked around theatrically, going so far as to shade his eyes with his hand. Asshole.

“I don’t see anybody.”

He sat up, grabbing Steve’s pants at the ankle and yanking them off with one hard pull, dragging Steve halfway across the mattress and into his unapologetically naked lap.

Steve yelped before clapping a hand over his mouth, glancing at the door like Dustin was about to bust through.

He pushed up onto his elbows, hissing emphatically.

“Billy! What are you doing?”

Billy ran his hands up Steve’s legs, skimming around his groin to continue stroking up his stomach and chest, ending up hovering over Steve on his knees and elbows, cradling Steve’s neck.

His eyes were serious on Steve’s face.

“You’re not going to sleep like this, you’ll get nightmares.”

Steve tried to look away, but Billy caught him by the jaw with a gentle hand, keeping his focus.

He sighed, offering a smile that he knew was more of a grimace.

“Probably. That’s alright, Dustin’s heard me lose my shit before.”

Many, many times before.

It had been so bad one night that he had silently crawled into bed with Steve, wearing his polyester Spider-Man pajamas, and read to him out of his comic book until Steve could breathe again.

He really didn’t deserve a friend like Henderson.

Especially since Billy seemed determined to get something started while they shared the same roof and Steve was only three quarters serious in his protests.

Billy nudged his nose under Steve’s chin, talking into the skin of his throat, lips dragging sweetly.

“No, baby. It’s not alright. Let me help.”

Steve slapped at his shoulders, catching his breath when Billy bit his neck in retaliation.

“You don’t want to help, you asshole, you’re just trying to get your dick wet.”

Billy chuckled against Steve’s collarbone, rolling his hips into Steve’s, rubbing their hard cocks together in a sinuous slide.

“Yeah, and it’s working.”

And, okay, so. It wasn’t not working.

Steve was easy. It was kind of a problem.

Billy grunted and Steve pressed his fingers to his lips before remembering and jerking them away, Billy left looking startled more than anything.

“Sorry. Sorry, you just need to be quiet. I don’t want him to hear anything.”

Steve was not going to be responsible for additional trauma in Dustin’s life. He’d had enough, already.

Billy licked along his jawline up to his ear, whispering low and dirty.

“Relax. There’s a bathroom between our rooms. Besides, we can keep it down. Just pretend you snuck into some bitch’s room and don’t want to wake up her parents. Don’t act like you’ve never done that shit, King Steve.”

And Steve wasn’t thinking properly, okay? Because Billy had just used the word ’our’. Our room. As in, theirs. Together.

Like a real couple.

It was a slip of the tongue, but. If there was one thing Billy’s tongue was good for, it was making Steve think with his dick.

And his dick made terrible decisions.

He clutched at Billy’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist. He could feel him smile against his cheek.

“Yeah, okay, fuck.”

Billy pressed that smile to his throat and then to his chest, dragging it down his belly to nuzzle at the crease of his thigh, sniffing in a way that was not at all discreet.

Fucking caveman.

That shit drove Steve crazy, squirming under Billy’s open mouth, dick wet against his belly.

Billy licked a long hard stripe up his dick without warning and Steve tried to swallow his fist, biting his knuckles against a slutty moan trying to work its way out of his throat.

He sucked at the head, letting it pop in and out of his lips while he looked up at Steve with smiling eyes.

Steve was going to have teethmarks on his fingers, shit.

Billy pulled back with a smirk and a condescending shushing noise that made Steve want to slap his face but also maybe choke on his dick a little.

Strong hands grabbed Steve by the hips, flipping him over onto his stomach with a muffled squeak into the pillows.

Billy muscled his way between his legs, bending one at the knee and shoving it up and out until Steve could feel cool air between his cheeks.

And then warm air as Billy dropped to his belly and buried his face in Steve’s ass, biting the meat of it before drawing a light, teasing circle around his rim with his tongue.

Steve decided that the best course of action was to eat his pillow, holding it against his mouth with his fist as Billy started to lick harder and faster, the wet sloppy noises of his mouth obscenely loud in the quiet room.

He kept at it until Steve was wet and loose, swallowing tiny whimpers on every breath.

Billy wiped his chin off on Steve’s ass, stubble sweet-rough against his skin and making him hump down into the mattress.

He pressed a contented growl into his back, climbing up to join Steve at the head of the bed, rolling him over onto his side and spooning tight behind him.

His lips were damp against Steve’s ear, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

“You’re being so good for me, pretty boy. Think you can keep that up while I fuck you?”

Steve nodded, pillow still clamped between his teeth.

Billy pried it loose, pulling away the wet fabric and stroking his fingers over Steve’s lips.

He rolled away, Steve turning his head with a soft noise of inquiry to find him retrieving lube and a condom, rolling it on before returning to slide slick fingers down to Steve’s ass, pressing in.

“Perfect.”

It was almost more breath than sound, barely reaching Steve’s ear from where Billy had buried his mouth in his hair.

Billy slicked himself up, pushing in just a little before wiping his hand off on the sheets and wrapping his arm around Steve, holding him close.

He started to slide in deeper and Steve made a soft keening sound, breath coming hard through his nose as Billy’s warm dry palm pressed over his mouth.

Billy’s voice was tremulous, rasping in his ear.

“Yeah?”

Steve put his own hand on top of Billy’s, holding it down as he nodded, sliding the top of his foot up Billy’s calf.

Billy pulled back and thrust in harder and Steve moaned against his hand, mouth open to the salt of his skin.

Billy huffed a laugh into the back of Steve’s neck, shaking his head.

“Shh. Gotta be quiet, princess. Wouldn’t wanna wake up the baby.”

Steve wrinkled his nose and pulled his hand away just enough to whisper back.

“Don’t be gross, Billy.”

Billy nudged his top leg forward, bent at the knee. His thumb caressed Steve’s cheek slow and soft.

“You like it.”

Steve wasn’t thinking. He was just feeling. Billy, everywhere. Over, around, inside him. Holding him down when he wanted to fly to pieces.

He squeezed Billy’s hand, breathing the words into his palm.

“I like you.”

They both froze, going so quiet that Steve could hear the soft whirr of the heater.

Billy’s hand went slack against his mouth, slipping down his throat to rest square upon his chest as Steve’s hand fell away.

Steve really hoped he couldn’t feel the jackrabbit pace of his heart as they both held their breath, humiliation starting to prickle at Steve’s skin like the itch of sweat on a hot day.

He gasped when Billy moved, sliding inside him that last inch and curling tighter along his back, free hand clutching his hip.

Billy’s lips passed soft and warm over the bumps of his spine, drifting up into the base of his hairline with a long, harsh inhale.

He started up a smooth, rolling rhythm, rocking them together spooned on their sides, all warm skin pressed to warm skin and quiet, uneven breaths.

Billy’s arm shifted beneath him until Steve’s head was pillowed on his bicep, skin smooth against his cheek.

He let his other hand slide down from Steve’s chest to close his fingers around Steve’s cock, pulling in time with their hips.

Steve reached back with one hand to hold onto Billy’s flexing hip, letting the other come up over his head to tangle his fingers in Billy’s curls, not pulling, just feeling the soft spring of them in his hand.

Billy buried his face in Steve’s neck, sucking in a mouthful of skin to muffle a deep, dark groan.

It wasn’t the overwhelming, hurricane force winds fucking that they usually slammed each other around with.

It was a slow, gentle build. Like waves lapping at the shore, tide rising higher and higher until Steve was going under with a bitten off moan, trembling in Billy’s arms.

Billy rocked him through it with strong arms and steady hips before rolling Steve further onto his belly, laying his heavy weight across his back and working his hips faster and faster until he came with a quiet grunt, arms locking Steve in place.

He didn’t say anything, just pulled his hips back enough to deal with the condom before falling right back on top of Steve, holding him down in the wet spot as his body went soft and heavy with sleep.

Billy went out like a light, mouth open and drooling between Steve’s shoulder blades, and Steve.

Steve used to drink until his limbs felt heavy, until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, until he felt like he was being buried alive.

This was like that, but it wasn’t at all, because Steve felt, deep in the screaming center of himself, safe and warm and like he wanted to wake up in the morning, just so he could have this again.

Billy shifted, tangling their legs together with a soft snuffling sound, and Steve had a sudden, vicious realization that he would do anything to keep this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Billy acknowledge Steve’s slip-up or pretend he didn’t hear?


	15. Oh, won’t you, please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why are you naked? Oh shit, is that a hickey? Gross, Steve!”
> 
> Steve manfully resisted the urge to clap a hand to his neck like a caught-out ninth grader, choosing instead to plant his hands on his brief-clad hips, feeling entirely too exposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I met my deadline and now I can get back to writing trash! Yay!  
> I’ve had a really tough week and I need the distraction, honestly. 
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Discussion of Alcoholism, in fact it’s safe to assume that will come up now and again for the rest of the fic.
> 
> Implied/referenced child abuse
> 
> Brief, subtle mention of suicidal ideation.

Steve woke to sunlight streaming through his window and the terrifying echo of angry shouting.

“Screw you!”

“I’m gonna rip your ugly fucking Cabbage Patch head off and shove it up your ass!”

“I’d like to see you try, you son of a bitch!”

Steve scrambled to untangle himself from the sheets, tugging on some briefs off the floor before busting out of his bedroom and sliding across the slick tile floor into the living room.

He knew Dustin could be a little shit sometimes, but if Billy lay a fucking hand on him, Steve was gonna put him in the ground. His fingers itched for his bat.

He skidded into the living room, chest heaving and ready to break up a fight.

Only there wasn’t any fight.

Except on his twenty five inch state of the art television screen.

Those assholes were playing Punch Out on Steve’s Nintendo.

Steve was gonna die of a heart attack. His chest actually hurt.

Two curly heads popped up over the back of the couch, controllers dangling from Cheeto-stained hands.

Dustin’s face scrunched up under the riot of curls going in every direction, pointing at Steve with his controller.

“Why are you naked? Oh shit, is that a hickey? Gross, Steve!”

Steve manfully resisted the urge to clap a hand to his neck like a caught-out ninth grader, choosing instead to plant his hands on his brief-clad hips, feeling entirely too exposed.

He was breathing too hard to think of a good comeback, body still ready for a fight that wasn’t coming.

Billy threw an elbow into Dustin’s side, knocking him sideways with a squeaked curse.

“Wait ’til he turns around, I did a number on those milky thighs the other night.”

Dustin looked at Billy like he had just leaned over and spat in his drink.

“You are completely disgusting and I hate you.”

Billy grinned wide, catching his tongue between his teeth before turning back to Steve, face dropping in concern.

“Hey, you alright, princess?”

Steve retreated to the sound of Dustin gagging theatrically and Billy’s delighted, maniacal laughter.

He shouted at them to make some fucking coffee before slamming his bedroom door.

It was definitely time for a shower.

Steve took extra time to get dressed and do his hair instead of just wandering out in a pair of sweatpants like he usually would, unable to shake the feeling of being far too naked, in ways that weren’t just physical.

He wore a collared shirt.

Just because it looked good, no other reason. Shut up.

Entering the living room was like a repeat of earlier that morning, without the panic clawing at his chest.

“Come on, just a sample! It’s for science!”

“Harrington! Come get this little fart off of me, he’s gone nuts!”

Dustin was leaning over Billy on the couch with a cotton swab and a test tube, presumably retrieved from the bowels of his enormous backpack.

It was exactly the kind of thing that Dustin would carry around with him ’just in case’.

Steve debated simply turning around and going back in the bedroom.

“I wasn’t even asking for his blood, yet, Steve! Just saliva!”

Billy planted a bare foot on Dustin’s stomach, pushing him away with a grunt. That asshole was wearing the same pair of Steve’s pajama pants that he had bitched about just the night before.

He turned his head to aim big, blue, pleading eyes at Steve and Steve tried not to find it adorable that Billy and Dustin both had the same chaotic curly bedhead, but.

“Yet? Yet! Do you hear this shit?”

Steve set one hand on his hip and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other.

He hadn’t even gotten his coffee, yet.

“Dustin. Please don’t conduct experiments on my-”

They both looked at him, and it was like the entire apartment held its collective breath waiting for Steve to stick his foot in his mouth.

He shut his mouth with a click, looking away from Billy to focus on Dustin, still hovering with his fucking cotton swab.

“-Billy. He’s not a lab rat.”

Dustin waved the test tube in the air. Steve wasn’t sure how valid his results would even be since it was definitely smudged with Cheeto dust.

“But there are questions to be answered, Steve! How do you expect me to make scientific inquiries without collecting data?”

Steve threw his hands in the air, regretting every decision that led him to this conversation at this hour of the morning.

“I don’t know, maybe just ask him?”

Billy looked like he would rather give blood, slanting mean, betrayed eyes at Steve like he was the one trying to conduct questionable experiments on him.

Steve turned around and went to get his coffee.

He hoped things would look better when he returned, taking an extra minute to stir in his cream and sugar just right before coming back.

It was definitely worse.

Billy was hocking a loud, disgusting loogie into Dustin’s test tube, handing it back with a nasty grin.

“You’re welcome.”

Dustin took it gingerly between finger and thumb, capping it and stowing it in a zip top bag before shoving it into his backpack.

“Thanks, asshole. While that is not technically the most disgusting thing I’ve ever handled, it definitely comes close, so, congratulations. You’re the worst.”

Billy gave him a mocking salute as he sprawled out on the couch, scratching his belly.

“It’s a talent.”

Steve shoved his feet out of the way to sit in the middle of the couch, leaving room for Dustin so he was sandwiched between them while they played another round.

He deserved a fucking medal for his sacrifice, honestly.

Especially when Billy started losing the game and resorted to physically shoving at Dustin’s hand on the controller with whatever body part was most convenient.

Steve narrowly avoided a broken nose toward the end, there.

Dustin ducked back into the cave to get his things together and Billy started pacing restlessly, prowling the perimeter of the living room like a disgruntled tiger.

He waited until Dustin walked back through the archway before pouncing, getting in his face and backing him up until his backpack hit the wall with a clank.

He kept his hands to himself, keeping Dustin pinned with the sheer force of his intensity.

“Listen, dipshit. Keep your big fucking mouth shut, alright? Nobody needs to know I’m not exactly six feet under. Don’t tell my,” he looked away, rubbing his fingers across his lips while his face creased with pain, some of the edge falling from his voice, “just, don’t tell her.”

Dustin craned his neck to make big, scandalized eyes at Steve over Billy’s shoulder.

“Steve! We can’t keep this from Max, it isn’t fair, and she-”

Billy jerked back with a growl, making another slow, seething lap of the room.

Steve held out his hands, pitching his voice low in contrast to Dustin’s indignant screeching.

“It’s not our secret to tell, man. It’s Billy’s.”

Dustin jutted his chin, stepping up to Steve with both hands gripping the straps of his backpack, delivering a challenging glare in Billy’s direction as he paced back around Steve.

“Well, I’m not gonna lie if she asks me.”

Billy’s laugh cut through the air like a rusty knife, face twisted in a mask of mocking disbelief.

“Okay, sure. If Maxine asks you directly if her shitty, dead stepbrother is a little less dead than originally thought, then you can tell her. It’s not like she’s ever going to mention me to you, asshole. She’s probably forgotten I ever existed.”

Steve’s stomach flipped over, the rest of his internal organs in full rebellion and his ribs squeezed painfully around his heart.

He had to look away, closing his eyes at Dustin’s soft, determined voice.

“No, Billy. She definitely hasn’t forgotten. If you only knew what she-”

Billy cut him off with a snarl, stepping back into his space menacingly.

“Whatever. Just keep your trap shut so I don’t have to put my fist through it.”

Steve flinched as he slammed the bedroom door closed behind him, beating a hasty retreat down the hallway.

He opened his eyes to find Dustin watching him silently.

Judgingly.

Steve winced, running a hand though his hair with an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry. He doesn’t mean it. Probably.”

Dustin rolled his eyes, knocking into Steve’s shoulder as he stomped past him toward the front door.

“Probably isn’t exactly reassuring, Steve!”

Steve followed close behind, clapping a hand on his shoulder to turn him around to face him.

“I wouldn’t let anything like that happen to you, and that’s a promise you can take to the bank, Henderson.”

Dustin smiled at that, pearly whites on display, posture relaxing back into his usual friendly restlessness. Steve couldn’t help smiling in response.

Dustin tilted his head, studying Steve with far too perceptive eyes, his expression doing something strange and inscrutable.

Steve was once again tempted to cover the mark on his neck, settling for throwing his arms out with a lifted brow.

“What?”

The smile curved into a small, secret thing, tucked back behind his teeth while his eyes shone at Steve.

“Nothing, I just haven’t seen you this happy in a while. That asshole’s really good for you, huh? Look at you, you’re glowing!”

Steve slapped his hand away when he waved it in the air between them as if to demonstrate his supposed glow.

“Yeah, okay, fuck off with that shit. That’s what people say to pregnant women, dude!”

Dustin patted Steve’s belly with a gentle hand, lips twisting into a soft, condescending smirk.

“Well, whenever there’s a happy announcement, I want to be the first to know.”

Steve poked him in the stomach in retaliation, which quickly devolved into a grappling fight which culminated in a tight, extended hug.

He buried his face in fluffy curls with a sigh, taking a deep breath of Ivory soap and Cheetos. It was oddly, deeply comforting.

Dustin cupped the back of his neck, squeezing in a move that Steve had always used on the kids but wasn’t used to receiving himself.

It felt...nice.

Secure.

Loving.

Dustin spoke directly into Steve’s shoulder, breath warm through his shirt, surprisingly strong arms holding tight.

“I’m proud of you, buddy.”

And, just like that, Steve was fighting tears. Beating them back with a fucking crowbar and a muted sniff.

He couldn’t talk, just held on until Dustin finally gave him three firm pats on the back and stepped away.

“Alright, I really gotta go. I’ll call you when I get back to my dorm, okay?”

Steve sucked in a not entirely dry breath, pasting on a bright smile with a half-hearted wave, taking the door from Dustin and holding it open while he stepped out.

“Sure thing. Drive safe!”

He closed the door behind him, turning to lean his weight against it, debating just sliding down to the floor when the motion of swinging Venetian blinds caught his attention.

Billy was out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette and wearing Steve’s ski jacket that he must have unearthed from deep in the bedroom closet. It clashed abominably with the pajama pants tucked into his boots, flopping over the tops unevenly.

Steve had bought him a nice, custom coat, but he refused to wear it half the time, claiming it was ’too nice’ for him to mess up.

Billy seemed to think that a lot of things were too nice for him.

Steve disagreed.

He thought Billy deserved a lot of nice things that he didn’t seem to get, like comfort and friendship and, fuck, love.

Steve pulled out a cigarette, leaning over for Billy when he obligingly took Steve’s silver lighter out of his pocket and clicked it on.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and letting his words ride the smoke out of his lungs, determination coloring his voice in shades of steel.

“There’s something I think you should know. About me.”

Billy scoffed, knocking elbows with him companionably, tucking his own cigarette back between his lips so he could talk with it clenched between his teeth.

“What? You married or some shit, Harrington? Like I’d give a fuck.”

His tone was aggressively casual, jovial, desperately trying to keep them here on the surface without delving any deeper, skating on thin ice over churning waters.

Steve ignored it, preparing to take a fucking sledgehammer to the ice.

There really wasn’t any point in trying to keep it a secret. It was going to come out eventually. Steve was shocked that Billy hadn’t figured it out on his own by now.

So, he just spat it out, voice as flat and hard as the concrete roof on the building opposite.

“I’m an alcoholic.”

Steve leaned back, sucking on his cigarette, cherry burning half as hot as Billy’s eyes on the side of his face, searching and incredulous.

“Bullshit. I haven’t even seen you bust open a beer since I got here.”

Steve couldn’t look at him, shame and self loathing rising like acid in his gut, burning all the way to his eyes, blinking rapidly against it.

“Yeah. Because I stopped drinking. This time last year I would have been throwing them back until I blacked out, almost every night.”

Almost every morning, too, for that matter.

Most afternoons.

Billy took a deep, hard breath, letting it out with an edge of disbelief in his words that ran through Steve like a poison-tipped arrow.

“Holy shit. What happened to Keg King Steve?”

Steve ashed over the railing, watching Billy from the corner of his eye, like it might hurt less if he didn’t see the disappointment and disgust head-on. Waiting for the moment Billy’s face twisted the way his own did when he looked in the mirror.

“Couldn’t keep that shit up, had to quit. I was hurting my kids.”

Billy recoiled, stepping away and folding in on himself as though Steve’s face had just opened up into a slimy nightmare flower lined with teeth.

Maybe Steve was projecting, a little.

He sighed, hunching over the railing to look down at the dark, damp pavement below.

“Not like that. I was disappointing them. Making them worry. Keeping them up at night. I was such a selfish asshole.”

Billy made a soft sound beside him, burying it beneath a harsh exhale of smoke.

There was something building in Billy’s voice, a familiar edge of rage that Steve hadn’t heard since the summer Billy Hargrove was flayed.

Since he had died.

“So you, what? Quit drinking? Just like that? For a bunch of dweebs who aren’t even your own kids?”

Steve blew a lopsided smoke ring, watching it wobble out into nothing. Billy said it like it had been easy. Like it was easy now. Like Steve hadn’t been sick as a dog for months, with tremors and nausea and seeing monsters out of the corner of his eye every night.

Like Steve had never stood at the top of this building and looked down and thought, what if.

He wrapped his fingers tight around the freezing rail, pushing back half a step.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

Billy laughed, a harsh, ugly sound, drawing his cigarette down to the filter before flicking it off the balcony.

“My old man never put down his beer unless he needed a free hand to take a swing at me. His actual kid. And you’re telling me some random brats you used to hang out with cried boo-hoo and you went dry as a fucking desert?”

There was a change in quality to the air, almost like a high frequency vibration. It raised tiny hairs on Steve’s skin.

Used to make him snap his head around in the hallways when Billy stalked by, face bruised dark as a thundercloud and knuckles split open. His fury had always had a force of it’s own.

Thinking back, he might have known it then. Might have always known, about the bruises Billy never tried to hide and the razor’s edge of rage he skated on everyday.

Everyone knew, on some level, and nobody blinked an eye.

Like it was just another facet of Billy’s persona, an accessory like his leather jacket or chick-magnet Camaro.

Everyone knew Billy Hargrove had pretty eyes, a stupid mullet, every girl in town hanging off his dick, and a father who beat him.

Christ, Steve was an asshole.

If anyone ever managed to invent a time machine, and Steve’s money was on Henderson for that, really, but if anyone ever did, Steve would use it just to go back in time and kick his own ass.

He let his own cigarette drop, fizzling out on the wet tiles of the balcony floor with a tiny plume if defeated smoke.

He turned to regard Billy, giving him his full, clear attention even as he huddled his arms close to his side, a chill biting through his sweater both from the wind and from the ice in Billy’s eyes.

“Billy. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry he did that to you. It wasn’t your fault, and you deserved better.”

Billy’s chin was raised, eyes half-lidded as he lit another cigarette, voice tinted with that familiar defiance that had always bordered on desperation.

Steve used to think he was unhinged, but now he was able to pinpoint the hysterical, shaky undertone to that perpetual anger.

It was fear.

Billy was afraid. Then and now and always.

Two fingers stabbed at his sternum, shoving Steve back on his heels while Billy glared at him through narrowed eyes.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”

Steve let go of the railing, retreating another step.

He felt old, all of the sudden. And tired. He let his head fall forward into his open hand, hair flopping in his face dejectedly, barely speaking above a whisper like it was a confession.

“I never do, man.”

The balcony doors slammed open and Billy stomped his way inside, lit cigarette still hanging from his lower lip.

The doors crashed closed behind him but Steve could hear angry, thrashing music wailing through them moments later.

He stayed out there for a long time, staring down at the ground over the railing while Billy let the stereo scream out his fury with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y’all miss me? 
> 
> Anybody missing Dustin already? Steve, put your hand down.


	16. Baby, be my darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy’s hair smelled like burnt sugar, like the deepest, darkest caramel.
> 
> And sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little porny palette cleanser between angst chapters, because that is how I do.

The beer disappeared from the fridge.

Silently, without announcement or fanfare, just, gone. No empty bottles in the trash or anything.

If Steve noticed that Billy didn’t replace it the next time he bought groceries, he didn’t say a word. Not even a nod of acknowledgement.

Billy’s brand of kindness only worked if you didn’t bring too much attention to it. You had to peek at it from the corner of your eye. Reach for it under the table and slide it in your pocket like a dime bag.

Steve was learning.

Slowly, of course, but. Goddamnit, he was trying.

He liked to think that the sudden and complete lack of alcohol in the apartment meant that Billy was trying, too.

He had certainly believed bigger lies, anyway. What was the harm in telling himself one little tiny one like that?

No one ever had to know about the flood of warmth in his chest when he opened the fridge to find neat rows of Seven-Up and Dr. Pepper instead of Coors.

Steve had kept bigger secrets.

Billy hadn’t touched him the night Dustin left. He had never come to bed at all, still sitting on the couch, red-eyed under a cloud of smoke when Steve had walked out the next morning.

He had crashed hard, curled up into a tight, defensive ball in the middle of the bed for most of the day while Steve tiptoed around the apartment, airing out the stench of cigarettes and definitely not standing in the doorway like a creep to watch Billy breathe for minutes at a time.

And when Billy’s breath had started to catch and shudder, tiny whimpers scraping between clenched teeth, Steve had sat on the floor beside the bed, mindful of Billy’s request to be left alone.

Billy’s forehead had scrunched into sharp, painful lines, his knees tucking up close to his chest, arms hugging himself tightly.

Steve’s hands had ached to touch him, but he kept them to himself, rolled into fists, knuckles pressed against his knees until he couldn’t stand it anymore and went into the kitchen to bake snickerdoodles from the recipe Mrs. Henderson had sent him in the mail, hoping to wake Billy gently with the scent of sugar and cinnamon in the air.

The smoke alarm had done the trick, if a little less gently than he might have hoped.

Billy had appeared and shoved him aside, opening the oven to unleash a thick, toxic cloud that actually did smell faintly of cinnamon, cursing and coughing as he helped Steve hurry to open all of the doors to let it out.

His hand had been rough and gentle in equal measure when he had licked the pad of his thumb to wipe away a streak of soot from Steve’s cheek, laughing so hard that tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, calling him a failure as a housewife.

Steve had never been happier to fail.

Now, a fresh batch of snickerdoodles rested on the counter to cool, the oven scrubbed clean with only the slightest hint of charcoal still thickening the air.

Billy’s hair smelled like burnt sugar, like the deepest, darkest caramel.

And sex.

He rubbed his stubble-rough chin up and down the length of Steve’s throat and Steve gasped, holding his head in place, begging for him to do it again while Billy laughed at him, mumbling something about demanding princesses even as he gave in to the request, scraping his skin obligingly.

Steve was going to look like he’d been run through a cheese grater when he walked in to work the next morning and he gave zero fucks.

It was so worth it.

There was a deep, insistent part of himself that wanted Billy to mark up every inch of him, so that no matter where he looked he could see himself written across Steve’s skin.

It was an odd impulse, trying to make his outsides match his insides. Everything inside of him was already scrawled with Billy’s signature, in permanent ink.

Billy slid his hand under Steve’s thin tee shirt, letting the fabric bunch on his wrist and ride up to his ribs with the sure, steady glide of his hand.

He tweaked Steve’s nipples into tight, hard buds before swooping down to suck one between his teeth, working it with his tongue through his shirt, the wet cotton rough against his skin.

Steve yanked it up and off, pausing when Billy surged up to grab and twist the tangled mess of his shirt around his arms, holding them pinned above his head for a long, taut moment before pulling it free and throwing it across the room.

Steve’s heart pounded against his ribs at the look on Billy’s face, wild with wanting.

His wrists tingled with the phantom sensation of Billy holding them down even after they were freed, zinging warmth shooting down to his fingertips.

He dragged his fingers down Billy’s bare back, dipping and catching on each of his scars, swirling softly on the patches of skin between.

Beautiful and rough, just like the rest of him.

Complicated.

But when had Steve’s life ever been simple? Not since he was sixteen and serving his A-game to get into Nancy Wheeler’s pants.

This wasn’t like that. It wasn’t simple.

It was better.

Billy popped Steve’s waistband with his teeth, a feral growl in his chest as he pinned him down with those eyes.

So, so much better.

Billy’s lips parted around a rumbling purr of sound, pressed into the hollow of Steve’s hip.

“Pretty boy.”

Billy didn’t seem to have much more to say, just that, rubbing his face over the soft plane of Steve’s belly.

Staring into Steve’s eyes while he pulled off his pants, leaving him bare and squirming beneath him.

He hadn’t had much to say at all since he had woken up, quietly and competently shoving Steve out of the way so he could make a successful batch of snickerdoodles.

Steve had gotten tired of the silence and led him to the bedroom. They may not win any awards in holding a conversation, but, this?

This was communication at its finest.

They were good at this.

Steve loved the way Billy told him things with his body, with his hands cupped around his hips, with his teeth sunk into his earlobe, with his eyes, soft on Steve’s face.

He loved the way he could answer with the arch of his back and the drop of his jaw and the skipping track of his nails down Billy’s spine.

He just. Loved this.

He loved.

Billy sucked him down like a drink of water after a long, hot day and Steve was stardust and fire sparking across the room, digging his fingers in soft blonde curls and opening his throat to an orchestra of sound, rising and falling with the motion of Billy’s head.

Billy popped off with a satisfied hum, hitching Steve’s legs up onto his hips while he leaned over to grab a condom and lube, dropping the bottle into the sheets and lifting the foil packet to his teeth.

Steve reached up and snagged it, tossing it across the room, heart racing like he was being chased by his own desires.

“Don’t. I want you, just. I want to try it bare.”

Billy’s face closed off, shaking his head as he leaned over to dig around the drawer for another condom. He wasn’t touching Steve anymore, apart from where his legs rested on Billy’s thighs.

“Can’t do that.”

Steve twisted to catch his wrist, tugging his hand out of the drawer, fingers empty.

Billy’s eyes snapped to his face, something heated banging on the shutters drawn across them.

Steve trailed his fingers up Billy’s arm, caressing his scars, gathering his courage until it pushed the words out of his big, stupid mouth.

“Want to feel you.”

Billy closed his eyes, muscles jumping beneath Steve’s fingers as a line grew between his eyebrows.

Steve traced it with one finger, Billy’s breath puffing against his wrist.

His lips gave a wry twist as he shook his head again, looking down at Steve through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You need to shut that mouth before I do something stupid.”

Steve lifted his hips with a smile, dragging Billy’s cock along his ass in a blatant tease.

“Like me? Bare?”

Billy’s hips gave an aborted thrust before he held himself still, aiming a glare at Steve that would have been twice as potent if Steve couldn’t feel his dick leaking against his skin.

“Christ, you’re a menace,” he caught Steve by the hip as he tried to lift up again, pinning him down to the mattress with a forbidding frown, “Harrington. We can’t do that.”

Steve would have liked to think that the noise he made wasn’t a whine but he was trying to tell himself fewer lies and he had already accepted one today about Billy trying, so.

He whined, squeezing his knees tight around Billy’s waist.

“Why not?”

Billy’s frown slid into a scowl, which should absolutely not be as hot as it was, but.

Steve had issues, so.

It was so hot that he felt his balls draw up close to his body as Billy leaned in like a threat, teeth bared and voice barking.

“Because I’m filthy trash,” he stifled Steve’s protests with a hard finger against his lips, eyes firm, “and because, goddamn it, somebody’s gotta look out for you. Shit’s not dangerous for me, baby. It’s dangerous for you.”

Steve shook his head with a frustrated groan, hair matting against the pillow, hands running up and down Billy’s arms.

“I don’t care. I want it. Want to feel your skin, just you. Just you, Billy.”

Steve had done more dangerous things for worse reasons.

Billy looked down at him like Steve was pulling him apart, like Steve’s hands were knives carving him up inside.

He licked his lips, leaving his tongue peeking out as his gaze flitted all over Steve’s face, decision sharpening his eyes, shifting his knees on the bed.

“Okay, alright princess. Hold on, just. Like this.”

He pulled back to spit on Steve’s cock, which should have been completely disgusting, but instead just made his cock jump against his belly, leaking already.

Billy pressed their bare cocks together, wrapping his hand around them both.

He grabbed Steve’s hand, wrapping it up with his, holding his fingers down around their cocks.

Holding his hand down around them.

Billy was.

He was holding Steve’s hand.

They were holding hands while they fucked.

Holy shit.

Steve’s heart started thumping like Billy had reached out for him at a middle school dance.

Pathetic.

Billy smirked like he attributed Steve’s stupid, gobsmacked expression to the slide of their cocks and not the relatively unexciting lock of their hands together.

Thank god.

Steve was as embarrassed as he was thrilled, gasping at the silken slide of Billy’s skin, the ridge of his scarred knuckles beneath his fingers.

His eyes caught on Billy’s lips and he wanted to know how they felt against his the way he knew how they felt against his cock.

He wanted to trace the contours of them with his tongue until he had mapped them into his memory, until he could walk that path with his eyes shut, in his dreams.

He wanted.

Billy’s teeth sunk into his lower lip as he thrust into their hands and Steve shot off early as if he could feel the plump flesh of Billy’s lip yielding beneath that hard edge like ripe fruit.

Billy grunted, caught by surprise, face open with shock and arousal for a brief, searing moment before he let go of their dicks, disentangling their hands and falling down onto Steve, body rolling like a tidal wave.

His hands closed around Steve’s shoulders, face pressed behind his ear.

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so. Fuck.”

His hard, wet dick slotted into the shallow crease of Steve’s thigh, now slick and sticky with his come and Billy rutted into it, breath huffing out between his teeth onto Steve’s neck and Steve was turning his head, lips parted and searching and Billy met his eyes, his own going round with understanding and.

Billy shuddered as he came hard, adding to the mess on Steve’s belly in long, hot pulses while Steve held on with both arms around his back like Billy needed an anchor for this.

Billy hid his face, but Steve felt it, the press of his lips, open and panting against his neck.

Not quite a kiss, but.

Not quite anything else, either.

Steve pressed his own lips, clumsy and obvious along Billy’s hairline and Billy rolled over onto his back, reaching over with a grin to drag his hand through the mess on Steve’s stomach before flicking his fingers in front of his face, spattering him with come.

Steve sputtered and wiped it off on his arm, all tender thoughts dissolving in the face of Billy’s delighted laughter.

“Fucking gross, man! Jesus.”

Billy batted his arm away and caught his chin in one hand, dabbing at his skin with his own discarded shirt with the other, meticulously careful around his eyes even as his fingers dug uncomfortably hard into his jaw.

Steve wanted to kiss the stupid smile off his face.

He settled for smearing his sticky hand down Billy’s cheek while Billy howled with laughter and ducked away, rolling off the bed with a thump.

He tossed the dirty shirt onto Steve’s head, footsteps heading toward the bathroom and voice pitched so low that Steve could barely hear it.

“Hey, Steve?”

Steve struggled out from under the shirt, the fabric sticking unpleasantly to his wet skin.

Had Billy just called him by his actual name?

Panic started knocking on the door at the back of his mind and Steve struggled to hear Billy over the racket.

He turned startled eyes to Billy’s back where he had paused at the bathroom door, fingers gripping the jamb tightly.

“What you said, the other day. Me too. For whatever that’s worth.”

Steve couldn’t muddle his way through that. He’d said a lot of things over the past few days. He couldn’t think of anything that-

Oh.

Oh, shit.

He opened his mouth to say something back, something meaningful maybe, fucking heartfelt, but Billy had already shut the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that smell? Is that? Is that feelings in the air?  
> Who called it that Billy would actually acknowledge Steve?
> 
> Surely it must be smooth sailing along the love canal for our heroes from here...right?
> 
> (Spoiler alert, nope. Also, I made myself cackle just writing love canal, so. I should probably get more sleep.)


	17. We’ll make them turn their heads, everyplace we go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything had been perfect.
> 
> The restaurant was carefully chosen, intimate and exclusive, not too crowded or ostentatious.
> 
> Billy had enjoyed his steak, sipping on water along with Steve and refusing the wine list over Steve’s protests, sending warmth spilling through him at the casual sacrifice.
> 
> So, why, then, had it all gone to shit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t seem to keep away from writing this trash. Send help.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

How many times had that thought run through Steve’s mind in his life?

Taking Nancy up to his room. Going to the Byers’ house. Jumping down a tunnel into hell. Translating fucking Russian codes, fuck.

This, though.

This had seemed like a great idea. Like nothing could go wrong. Like it would be just what they needed to keep on the wobbly, wonderful track they seemed to be following into a real, actual relationship.

It seemed like a really good fucking idea, okay?

Everything was perfect.

Billy’s earring had winked above the collar of his sharp navy suit, a pleased flush on his cheeks when Steve presented the matching cuff links, his pulse fluttering under Steve’s fingers as he snapped them in place.

He smelled like sin, wearing the new French cologne Steve had gotten him, a deeper, darker version of his preferred scent.

Steve wanted to press his face to all the warmest points of him, his neck, wrist, fuck, his crotch, even. Just rub his face in the rich, wonderful scent of Billy that paired so perfectly with the cologne.

There was a deep, unfathomable well of need in Steve that only ever approached being full when he could wrap Billy up in the trappings of his affection.

It was perfect.

Everything had been perfect.

The restaurant was carefully chosen, intimate and exclusive, not too crowded or ostentatious.

Billy had enjoyed his steak, sipping on water along with Steve and refusing the wine list over Steve’s protests, sending warmth spilling through him at the casual sacrifice.

So, why, then, had it all gone to shit?

It took less than ten seconds, from the time the guy was passing their table to the motion of his head whipping around, eyes lighting on Billy with a dark, predatory edge, for Steve to feel the world tilting under his feet.

The guy didn’t acknowledge Steve at all, sauntering over to Billy with lazy, liquid grace and giving him an obvious, obnoxious once-over with a slide of his dark sunglasses.

It was eight in the evening, for chrissake.

What a consummate dick.

“My, my, my. Look what the cat dragged in. Jimmy, wasn’t it?”

Billy had gone utterly still, fingers bloodless around his glass when he saw the man’s face.

He was tall, blonde, tan, and reeked of money from the gaudy watch on his wrist to the designer sunglasses that he whipped off to smirk down at Billy.

“Here on business?”

His eyes flicked knowingly to Steve and back to Billy, smile as cruel as it wasblindingly white.

Steve wanted to throw him through the enormous sheet glass window at the front of the restaurant.

His gaze oozed over Billy like slime, leaving a disgusting trail behind that Steve could practically feel on his own skin.

“You got any openings this week?” He kicked Billy’s chair with his alligator loafers, grinning when he jolted in his seat, voice dripping with heavy handed innuendo, “Think you could fit me in?”

Billy’s lips split apart to bare his teeth, angling his shoulders away from the man with an icy glare.

“I’m all booked. Beat it.”

The douchebag actually propped his hip up on the edge of the table, sunglasses dangling from his fingers as he inserted himself between Billy and Steve.

“Mm. I’d rather you did that for me, Jimmy. What’s he paying you? I’ll go higher. This little stiff looks like he doesn’t know how to appreciate your talents. Like maybe he doesn’t know how pretty you are when you cry.”

He trailed one finger along the collar of Billy’s shirt, just barely skimming across his Adam’s Apple and red clouded Steve’s vision at the fucking audacity.

Billy went ashen, lips a tight line as his eyes fell to his plate. His glass rang quietly as he released it with shaking fingers.

Steve’s glass upended noisily when he stood up, water spilling across the table and chair crashing to the floor.

Billy said his name, once, quietly, barely penetrating the haze of his rage.

Steve had the guy by the lapels already, hauling his head back to crash thesolid bone of his forehead into the bridge of the guy’s nose. It crunched satisfyingly on impact.

A woman screamed somewhere behind him.

Billy reached into his pocket and threw some money on the table, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist and pulling him away from the shitstain now sprawled across the floor, cursing and shouting with blood and snot and tears running down his face.

He was an ugly crier.

Steve was able to get in one good kick with the pointed toe of his shoe between the guy’s ribs before Billy was hauling him bodily away, cursing under his breath the entire time.

He stuffed his hand down Steve’s trouser pocket to pull out his keys, shoving Steve into the passenger side with a hand on his head like he was guiding him into the back of a cop car.

They were both silent, breathing harshly when Billy slid into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

He jumped and swore when the radio came on once he cranked it, punching at the buttons with his fist until the station changed to heavy metal.

Steve rested his aching head against the cold glass and let the sounds of tortured guitars wash over him while Billy drove them back to the apartment like a bat out of hell.

He didn’t say a word, but the rigid line of his knuckles around the steering wheel practically screamed his thoughts at Steve.

They were not good thoughts.

Steve winced, half-falling out of the car when Billy parked and wrenched his door open, grabbing him so tightly around the upper arm that Steve expected to find bruises there in the morning.

He couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

Billy held onto him for the entire ride up the elevator, only letting go to throw him into the apartment, slamming the door behind them.

He paced back and forth in front of the door, rubbing his hands over his face, through his hair, across his neck, Steve’s eyes tracking as he rubbed away that man’s awful touch.

Steve wanted to run him a bath and wash it away with scented oils and soft cloths and tiny, lingering kisses and that was definitely a ticket for two free black eyes right now, so. No.

Billy turned abruptly to advance on Steve, backing him up halfway across the living room, eyes burning as he dug his finger into Steve’s chest, just above the top button of his jacket.

“What the fuck was that, Harrington?”

Rage licked at Steve like a fire rekindling in his belly, throwing his hands out expressively. A small, extremely pleased part of him noted that Billy didn’t flinch.

“He had it coming. That guy was an asshole. He can’t talk to you like you’re some-”

Billy’s eyes widened in challenge, chin jutting forward and, there it was, the exact angle of his jaw that meant trouble for Steve.

“Some, what? Some whore? Like he’s had me naked and crying on my knees for cash? Like dozens of other assholes just like him could say the same?”

It hurt, like a bruise on the inside of his ribs, to picture that. Billy, alone and hurting with an endless stream of shitty guys taking advantage of him. They all had that guy’s smirking face in Steve’s mind.

Violent, terrible images flashed through him of things he could do to them, the kind of damage he could wield with a crowbar and his bat.

He shoved them down, focusing on the wild look on Billy’s face, something desperate bleeding around the corners as he glared at Steve.

Steve shook his head, gripping his hair tightly with a crunch of ruined hairspray.

“That doesn’t matter! That doesn’t give him the right to. To talk to you like that. To treat you like fucking garbage.”

Billy looked at him like he was an idiot and, oh.

Oh, that hurt. That was a sharp, fresh pain over all the rest of it.

“Guys treat me like that because that’s what I am, dipshit. You’re the only one who’s ever,” he cut himself off, rubbing his hand across his face before meeting Steve’s eyes, his own dark and serious, “look. It doesn’t matter. You can’t be pulling shit like that. This isn’t high school, you could get arrested.”

The violence spilled out of him like acid between clenched teeth, hissing at Billy with shaking fists, every horrible thought written across his face.

“I don’t give a shit! I want to tear him apart and toss him to the demodogs. Him and every other piece of shit that’s treated you like some kind of toy to play with and break and throw away.”

Billy was unimpressed by the display, regarding him with flat eyes before sighing and turning away, walking in a tight circle before coming back.

He barked out a short, hard laugh before looking at Steve with an exaggerated, disdainful sniff, a mocking lilt to his voice that immediately put the Byers’ driveway under Steve’s feet.

“You know, princess, it’s cute, the way you think that this has been some, like, traumatic experience for me. Taking dick for cash isn’t even in the top five terrible things that have happened to me, okay? This shit is easy. No big deal. Do what you love and you never work a day, right? I’ve always been a filthy slut, only difference is now I get paid for it, by lonely, pathetic schmucks like you. Fuck off with your psycho-analytic bullshit, Harrington. I’m a happy hooker.”

It was hurtful, and mean, and entirely ineffective now that Steve could see right through it. Billy’s armor was made of fucking glass, now.

Crystal clear.

Steve felt a muscle tick in his jaw as he tried to shape his words into blunt instruments to shatter that armor into pieces around them.

“Bullshit! You weren’t happy when that Armani asswipe put his slimy fucking hands on you.”

Billy’s eyebrows came together thoughtfully as he nodded, pointing at Steve like a thought had just occurred to him. Steve could feel his pulse in the vein throbbing across his forehead.

“You’re right, genius. I only spread my legs for one Armani asswipe right now, according to our contract, right, Harrington? You wanted me exclusively. Now that you’ve had exactly what I am shoved in your face you might be rethinking that a little, huh? Maybe you want to go find a new toy with a little less tarnish?”

He showed Steve the edge of his teeth on the last word, the sharp points of his canines glinting in the overhead lights.

Steve wasn’t buying it, taking a deep breath and lifting his hand slowly, carefully, heart pounding, to lay his palm against Billy’s cheek.

“You’re not a toy, Billy. And I won’t let anyone treat you like that ever again.”

Billy ducked away, rubbing his cheek against his own shoulder like a little kid rubbing away a kiss, eyes wide and incredulous on Steve’s face.

“You think I’m, what? Some kind of damsel in distress? Waiting on your white knight bullshit to save me?”

Steve gripped his hair again with one hand, setting the other on his hip as he shook his head in denial.

“No! I don’t think you’re a damsel, but, fuck, Billy. Maybe you could do with a little saving!”

Billy was trying to undo his cuff links, snarling and ripping them through the fabric when he couldn’t figure them out, tossing them at Steve’s feet with a dissatisfying, muted ping of solid gold on tile. One of the tiny diamonds came loose to skid away beneath the couch, glittering darkly from the shadows.

“I’m not a charity project, Harrington. You can’t fix me with jewelry and clothes and fancy dinners and, fucking, treating me like you’re pretending I’m somebody special or something!”

Steve wasn’t pretending anything. He had never been more serious in his life. Only, now, he was frantically going over everything he had said and done to try to see it through Billy’s eyes.

To try to see if Steve was just bullshit, again.

He took a step toward Billy, hands held palms out at his sides, pouring himself out through his eyes, wide and pleading.

“Billy. Why would I-”

Billy slapped his hand away when he reached for him again, stumbling backwards like Steve had pushed him.

“Because you can’t fucking help it! You’re such a goddamned Disney princess you just think you can bat those big brown eyes and make everything okay. Well, you can’t. So stop trying. It’s not worth it. I’m not-”

_worth it_

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. It still rang loud and clear in the air between them.

Billy clamped his mouth shut, staring Steve down for a long, tense moment before turning on his heel and and slamming out of the apartment.

Steve’s lungs chose that moment to mutiny, knees buckling under the force of his first full-fledged panic attack in weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dunnnnnnnn
> 
> Yeah, there’s my last little Pretty Woman bit I was holding onto. It’s all off the rails Harringrove from here, folks!


	18. I don’t wanna let you go, til you see the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy looked like he was the one out of breath now, eyes wide open on Steve’s tear-streaked face.
> 
> “Yeah. You know where you are now, pretty boy?”
> 
> Steve couldn’t look away, air sweet in his lungs as he drowned in baby blue eyes.
> 
> “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some heavy angst, hurt/comfort.
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Discussion of trauma: physical, psychological, sexual. Just, basically the events of season three plus Billy’s hooker shit.

Time went by in a river of sludge, sight blurred by tears and ears ringing.

He backed himself into the corner of the room, long legs folded into his chest as he gasped and heaved and watched black dots creep into the corners of his vision.

Steve jerked, legs kicking out as cold fingers pressed to his face, the cloying scent of tobacco stinging his nostrils.

He blinked until Billy’s face came into stark relief, nose red from the wind and forehead creased.

Those cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, pressing his hand to the side of the leather couch.

“Feel that? What is it?”

Steve had to try three times to get his words out, lungs burning, brain filled with floating ashes and slithering vines.

“Couch?”

Billy nodded, smiling like a proud parent presented with a shitty crayon drawing. The kind that Steve kept pinned to his refrigerator with various university magnets.

“Good. You’re doing great, sweetheart. Look around, what do you see?”

Steve turned his head, breath coming slower but still whistling through his teeth in short, ugly snatches of air.

“I don’t. Lamp? Um, TV?”

Billy’s hands trailed up his arms to cup around the back of his neck, thumbs resting in front of Steve’s ears and making soft little circles there.

“Perfect, that’s right. What can you smell?”

Steve turned his face into Billy’s wrist, the skin starting to warm where the cuff of his coat had ridden up. His lips brushed against soft skin as he spoke.

“Cigarettes. You.”

Billy looked like he was the one out of breath now, eyes wide open on Steve’s tear-streaked face.

“Yeah. You know where you are now, pretty boy?”

Steve couldn’t look away, air sweet in his lungs as he drowned in baby blue eyes.

“Home.”

Billy’s face softened as he nodded, fingers tightening at the base of Steve’s skull before letting go to sprawl out next to Steve on the floor. He slid his shoes out, arms resting on bent knees as he stared up at the ceiling.

He looked like he had to chew on his words before he could spit them out, jaw working and throat bobbing.

Steve jumped a little at the sound of his voice, even as hushed as it was.

“Panic attack, right?”

Steve wanted a blanket, but he didn’t want to get up. He settled for leaning into Billy’s shoulder, the solid warmth of him seeping through his cold wool coat.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Billy shook his head but didn’t say anything, shrugging off his coat and dropping it on Steve’s lap without ever looking at him. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes.

His sleeves flopped open without the cuff links, ragged at the edges.

Steve would have thought he was settling in for the world’s least comfortable nap if he hadn’t started talking, whispering even though they were the only ones around, pressed close together in Steve’s empty apartment.

“Me too. Sometimes. Not so much now, but. Before.”

Steve pulled the coat up over his chest, leaning further into Billy, letting his head rest against his shoulder as he nodded silently. Billy’s legs straightened out in front of him and Steve laid his hand just above his knee, squeezing in encouragement.

Billy’s shoulder was tight under Steve’s head, the muscle of his thigh tense beneath his hand.

“One of the doctors at that government joint they kept me in for a while, after. Well, he wasn’t a quack like the rest of them. He, uh. He actually helped me. Taught me how to pull myself back, when shit gets too bad. It’s called grounding, what you just did. Shit works, most of the time.”

Steve watched Billy drop his hand down next to his, not quite touching, but.

It felt like a lot, for him.

Steve nuzzled into his shoulder, not even pretending that Billy wasn’t the only thing keeping him upright.

“Yeah?”

Billy swallowed, the wet sound of his throat working amplified by the press of Steve’s ear against it.

“Yeah. I had, uh. A lot of shit that I couldn’t, like, deal with, I guess, and. He helped me, sometimes. So I got better. Kind of.”

Steve could hold his head up, now, turning to look at Billy.

Billy didn’t look back.

“I’m glad you had someone to help you.”

Billy shrugged, gaze barely touching Steve’s face before flying away across the room.

His hand shifted on his thigh until it pressed against Steve’s, not holding, but. Just, pressed together along one side.

It was enough.

“So, you’re still pretty fucked up over all that crazy monster shit, too, huh?”

Now it was Steve’s turn to shrug, uncomfortable with the spotlight swinging in his direction when Billy was the one who had the real trauma.

“Yeah,” he laughed, even though nothing was funny, running his free hand through his hair while the other stayed glued to Billy’s thigh, “Yeah, that and the fucking Russians.”

Billy turned to look at him for real, brow quirked with confusion.

“What Russians?”

It didn’t feel real, sometimes. It felt ridiculous, ludicrous, until Steve tried to go to sleep and then it felt. Very real.

It was Steve’s turn to look away, studying the tips of their shoes, splayed out in front of them.

“Oh. Yeah, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t know. It’s not a big deal, nothing like the shit you had to go through.”

Billy dug his elbow into Steve’s side, gentle scolding coloring his voice.

“Don’t compare shit, Harrington. Shit is shit is shit. You’ve seen mine, so, show me yours, fuckface.”

That was fair.

Billy was a naked, exposed nerve sometimes, everything that had happened to him on clear, cruel display. Written across the surface of his skin.

Steve might as well even the playing field, peel back the layers and show his own scars.

“I was tortured,” Billy stiffened against him, eyes sharp on his face and Steve couldn’t look at him, just kept going, words shaky but resolute, “mildly, I guess. By secret Russians underneath the mall and I know it sounds crazy and I’m not supposed to talk about it fucking ever, but, it happened. To me. And it still sucks. And, there were. There were kids. We went down there with fucking, with little kids, man. Henderson and Lucas’ little sister and I had to. They had to get out so I stayed behind, me and Robin, and they got us, and injected us with fucking drugs and asked us all these questions and beat me to hell, and. And I betrayed my best friend.”

Because, when everything else was stripped away, when it really came down to it, Steve was a piece of shit, and now he could never really escape that fact after having it beaten into him so bluntly.

”So, yeah. That’s my shit, that you didn’t know about, basically.”

Billy seemed to be waiting for more, watching Steve in silence for far too long before he moved his hand, half covering Steve’s on his leg.

“That’s some shit, Steve.”

It felt like that hand had reached into his chest to half cover his heart instead, the dumb muscle thumping faster at the slight, steady contact.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

Billy pressed down with his hand, once, firm, before lifting it up to reach for his cigarettes, tapping out two and sticking them both between his lips.

Steve watched the flame cast light and shadow across his face as he lit them both up with a long, hard inhale before holding one out to Steve, waiting until their fingers met before speaking soft and low.

“When was the first time you ever thought about fucking me?”

Steve smiled around the filter in his mouth, ready to have familiar, teasing, steady ground beneath his feet again.

“Well, a few weeks ago you climbed into my car and-”

Billy cut him off, harsh and quick, knocking the humor right out of him.

“Be honest.”

There was something there, in Billy’s voice. Something raw, unfiltered, vulnerable to the open air like new skin, barely healed.

Steve corrected his tone, reluctant to put a scratch on that surface.

“I dunno. I guess, like. The very first time I saw you? It was at a party and you were half naked and covered in beer and you were just so. So fucking hot and nasty. I guess I wondered what it would be like, with you.”

Billy knocked his head back against the wall with a groan, clenching his cigarette in his teeth when he spoke, fast and rough.

“I knew it. I knew you wanted me. I wanted you so fucking bad. Used to drive me crazy, because you never looked at me again after that. I was doing fucking backflips trying to get your attention and you’d just look right past me.”

Steve remembered Billy tugging at his chest hair, talking about pulling pigtails. Taunting him on the court, in the showers. It should have been obvious, if Steve hadn’t been distracted.

“I had other shit going on when you came to town.”

Billy exhaled smoke on a sigh, bringing his knees up to rest his wrists on them, staring out across the room.

“Yeah, I get that now.”

Steve thought maybe they were done, for a while, smoking silently side by side, ashing directly onto the tile like the apartment was a goddamned flophouse.

Billy started back up, though, haltingly. Frowning like he didn’t like where the conversation was going even though he was the one at the wheel.

“When did you, like, start, with guys? Were you and Tommy touching dicks in the locker room or what?”

Steve turned in surprise.

So, okay, the thought had occurred to him, maybe, once or twice in the depths of his horny teenage bi crisis, but. Billy sounded almost angry about it, like he was sure that had happened and he didn’t like it. Like, maybe, he was jealous, just a little.

Steve kind of hated himself for liking that so much.

He shook his head, Billy’s frown easing up at the movement, mouth uncurling from the tight, angry line.

“No. What? No. Tommy was an asshole.”

And maybe, lately, that was kind of Steve’s type, actually, but, no.

“I uh, waited until after high school. I flunked out of college, but I really excelled at some of the extracurriculars.”

It felt like Steve had spent more time in his one year of college on his knees than in class, and maybe that explained a lot about him, as a person.

Billy’s mouth just kept uncurling until it went in the opposite direction, tilting up at the corners in a slow, dirty grin, eyes flashing at Steve over his cigarette.

“Dick sucking 101?”

Steve smiled a little, himself. It kind of hurt, like his facial muscles were sore after just a few hours of disuse.

“Bingo. How about you? Tommy would absolutely have sucked your dick if you had asked him.”

Billy’s face dropped, snapping away to stare at the wall, rolling his almost-gone cigarette between finger and thumb.

“No, I didn’t. I, uh. I looked, at other boys. Sometimes.”

At you.

He didn’t say the words, but Steve heard them like a whisper just out of reach.

Billy continued, in a low, rasping tone like the words were scraping him up inside on the way out.

“I looked, and I wanted. But, I didn’t. And then, after the. After it got me, I figured. Well, I’m already ruined, so. No point holding out any longer. And I sold my ass for fifty bucks and a beer. And it hurt, and it was awful, and I thought. Well, that’s what I get for wanting. And I never, not like, for fun, with a guy. Not until. I just, didn’t.”

The air had turned to glass, cold and sharp and cutting him to shreds on every inhale.

Steve sat up straight, leaning forward to try to catch Billy’s eye, but Billy’s gaze was running away, sprinting out of reach.

“Billy.”

Billy kept his face turned resolutely to the ceiling, barreling through like he needed to get the words out or he would never get the chance again. He crushed his cigarette onto the floor beside him, hand shaking.

“You asked, once. And, there’s lots of reasons that people go into this business, but, for me, it was that I knew I was a dead, rotting thing inside. And I needed something to remind me of that, when I got too fond of breathing. Something to expose what a nasty piece of work I really am. Most of the guys, clients or whatever, they’re happy to do it. Knock me down and keep me there in the dirt where I belong. But you don’t. You never do it like that. You’re fucking this up so bad.”

Steve felt like he was fucking up, just, all of the time.But not there. Not where he held Billy with gentle hands and honest eyes and a body that just wanted him close and safe and warm.

Billy’s jaw was trembling, tense like he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. Steve’s hand ached to press against it, smashing his own cigarette stub down into the tile instead.

“Billy, you’re not ruined.”

Billy shook his head, riding over Steve’s words with a hard, flat tone.

“She was my friend.”

That knocked Steve for a loop, reeling off-kilter while he tried to grasp for the thread of the conversation.

“What?”

Billy shrugged like it should have been obvious, and maybe it was. Maybe Steve was just a moron who couldn’t follow a thought around a curve. It had certainly happened before.

“Heather. I mean, we weren’t fucking, or anything. She was just nice, to me. And I killed her. Her and her whole fucking family, man.”

Oh.

Steve tried to wrap his mind around that, cutting himself on the sharp edges but holding tightly to everything that Billy was giving him.

He wanted to hold him. He wanted to bring his head down into his lap and pet his fingers through his hair and, fucking, rock him like a goddamned baby, but.

He let his leg fall to the side, pressing steadily against Billy’s, just there, without demanding anything from him.

“Billy. You have to know that shit wasn’t your fault. You were possessed, or mind-flayed or what the fuck ever. It wasn’t you.”

Billy closed his eyes, profile stark as he shoved his head back against the wall. He didn’t move his leg away.

“I was in there, the whole time. I don’t remember a lot now, but I. I remember that it. It would have. It wanted Max, but I. If I could give it other people, if I didn’t fight so hard for them, she got left alone. So I didn’t always fight. Sometimes I let that shit happen. And I think we both know what that makes me.”

The cigarette had helped, but the panic attack had left Steve exhausted, head pounding.

That pain was nothing to this, to Billy’s demons spilled out right here on the floor between them, a rolling, heaving mass of blood and guts and honesty.

Steve felt so much that he couldn’t shape it into words, that it spilled out from his fingertips, lifting them to press into Billy’s skin, skimming his hands up Billy’s tense jaw to frame his face, tilting it to meet his eyes.

“It makes you a survivor. It makes you fucking amazing.”

Billy’s eyes went hard and brittle at that, thin ice over a frozen lake as he jerked his head out of Steve’s hands.

“Yeah? You only think that because you’re a fucking idiot.”

Billy did that sometimes, he’d find an old bruise and he’d press on it, keep pressing until it deepened and spread, until he left his own mark on top of it.

Steve went stiff at the familiar insult, looking away, letting his leg straighten out and fall to the floor, hands dropping to his lap.

Billy sucked in a harsh breath, letting it out with a whisper.

“Sorry.”

Steve shook his head, gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache behind his eyes.

“That’s okay, you can call me whatever you want when we’re not fucking, right?”

And, besides. It’s not like it isn’t true. Maybe the truest thing Billy’s ever called him.

Billy pulled out another cigarette, just one, like he knew smoking another so soon would only make Steve’s headache worse.

He spoke directly into the flame as he lit it.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I should. I know that word’s off limits. So. I’m fucking sorry,” he took a hard pull, letting the smoke curl out toward the ceiling, “that’s what your old man used to call you, isn’t it?”

Steve pushed the coat off of his lap, shrugging out of his jacket. Billy had already unbuttoned his, letting it hang open around him.

Steve started working on his cuff links, giving himself somewhere to focus that wasn’t Billy’s face.

“How did you know?”

Billy shrugged, carefully casual, cigarette bobbing with the motion of his lips.

“Think you know what mine used to call me. That shit sticks with you.”

Steve thought of the look on Billy’s face in the bathroom mirror when Steve had called him a pussy and. Yeah, he knew.

But, that was different. That was a fucking lie.

Steve had never met anyone braver than Billy. Billy had faced down the darkness single handed and given his life for it, right in front of Steve.

What Billy had called him? It wasn’t nice, but. It wasn’t a lie.

Steve couldn’t go around insisting that Billy never tell the truth, even if it pierced right through him like poison arrows.

He rubbed at his temples, trying to smooth the worst of the ache.

“It’s fine. You can call me whatever you want outside of the bedroom, Billy. I know what I am, I just don’t like to hear it all the time, but that’s not your problem.”

Billy growled, low and frustrated, teeth snapping together around his words as he glared at Steve like Steve was the one passing out insults, here.

“Jesus Christ, just take the apology. You take apologies the way a fat girl takes a compliment.”

And, who the fuck even talked like that besides Billy Hargrove?

Steve slapped a hand against his forehead, letting the sharp bite of it distract him from the deep, penetrating throbbing in his skull.

“God, you are such an asshole! The fuck does that even mean?”

Billy’s words bit harder than the slap, barking right in Steve’s ear. He could feel the heat of his cigarette burning too close to his skin.

“It means not fucking well, dipshit!”

Steve shoved off of the wall, letting his discarded jacket slide across the floor as he stalked off to the kitchen, jerkily grabbing a glass of water, throwing it back as he heard Billy come stand behind him.

Steve didn’t turn around until he spoke, sharp and commanding.

“Hit me.”

Steve set his glass on the counter, slowly, carefully, with a muted click.

“What?”

Billy threw his cigarette to the floor, smashing it with the toe of his shoe. His hands rolled into tight fists at his sides as he jutted his chin out at Steve.

“Fucking hit me. You know you want to. I’ve never met a guy who didn’t want to put his fist through my face, you included. So, do it.”

More honesty. Another volley of arrows. Steve was staggering beneath the impact. Bleeding out from it.

He didn’t want that, not now, but. Before? Sometimes? Yeah, he’d thought about it. In detail.

It made him feel sick, now. The image of Billy’s blood on his knuckles.

He rubbed a hand though his hair, regarding Billy with tired eyes.

“I’m not going to hit you, man.”

Billy scoffed cruelly, raking over Steve like he was examining dirt on his shoe.

“Why? Because I suck your dick? That’s never stopped anyone before. Don’t worry, honey, it’s a free shot. I won’t get you back. Stop being a fucking pussy, Harrington. Come on! HIT ME!”

Steve turned away, ignoring Billy’s hiss of annoyance as he opened the glass-front cabinet behind him.

He pivoted back and held out a dinner plate. Noritake blue with a gold edge. His mother had bought them from Saks. Steve had never used them until Billy came to stay.

“If we’re trying to relive the past here, might was well make it accurate.”

He pressed the plate into Billy’s hand and leaned forward, parting his hair to reveal the scar on his scalp that he always styled to hide.

“Go on, Hargrove. Knock me on my ass. Because I’m not going to fucking hurt you and that’s what it’s going to take to make me stop reaching out for you.”

Billy sucked in a harsh breath as Steve let go of the plate.

Steve stood with his head bowed, just waiting.

Counting his breaths as he saw Billy’s fingers tighten around the edge of the plate, adjusting his grip.

Heart racing as he braced for impact.

Porcelain shattered against tile, fragments careening off in all directions, skittering over the ground and nestling beneath the cabinetry.

Billy’s hands shook as he stood there, nostrils flared, eyes wide and shining, leaving Steve swimming in lost lake blue, caught unawares by the thaw.

He flinched back as Steve lifted his head and leaned closer, telegraphing his movements until he rested his hands on Billy’s arms, absorbing the aftershock of his trembling.

Steve spoke slowly, quietly, letting his hands rub small, soothing circles up Billy’s arms.

“Okay. It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re done, now. You’re alright. C’mere.”

He pulled Billy into himself, sliding his hand up to hold the nape of his neck when Billy pressed his forehead against his shoulder.

Plate fragments crunched beneath their feet, clinking together as Steve rocked them slowly side to side, tightening his arms around Billy when he felt his hands come up to clutch at the back of his shirt.

The first sob was more force than sound, shaking them both like the first rumbling shock of an earthquake.

They built after that, growing stronger and louder into a crescendo that left both their faces damp and Billy whimpering into the side of Steve’s neck, fingers digging into his back.

It felt a little like they had set their deepest, darkest tunnels on fire and let the monsters burn.

Steve planted his feet, holding them both upright all the way through to the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are these boys making emotional progress? With communication? What???
> 
> Don’t worry, y’all. It won’t all be like this. There’s more smut in the works.


	19. I can feel you breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t a big change.
> 
> Nothing suddenly fell into place or anything. Billy didn’t start holding his hand and talking about his feelings, but.
> 
> But it was different.
> 
> In little, subtle ways.
> 
> Important ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just pure smut, y’all. More plot coming up next so I thought we needed a buffer.  
> And by buffer I mean smut.

It wasn’t a big change.

Nothing suddenly fell into place or anything. Billy didn’t start holding his hand and talking about his feelings, but.

But it was different.

In little, subtle ways.

Important ways.

It was like there had been a solid brick wall between them the entire time and Steve had finally busted it down enough for light to come shining through. Just a hint, just enough to keep him going.

Light on Billy’s face in the morning when he offered a scowl and a groggy ’fuck off, princess. Have a good day and shut the damn door.’

Light in his voice when he won at Punch Out, jumping onto the coffee table to play air guitar in obnoxious, gloating celebration.

Light in the brush of his fingertips across Steve’s forehead when he curled up to sleep beside him, fucked out and spent and far too sweaty to lay as close together as they did.

It was just. Better.

Worth the pain of facing their monsters, of knocking that shit down, of using their words like fucking adults even though it was hard and it hurt.

Nothing changed, but, everything was different.

Billy had made dinner, some kind of thick, hearty stew with a name Steve couldn’t pronounce that rolled off Billy’s tongue with too many consonants and oddly shaped vowels.

When Steve had asked which cookbook it had come from Billy clammed up for just a few bites before admitting that it had been his grandmother’s recipe.

It felt like he was handing Steve something precious, and breakable, pressed into his palm with shy, anxious eyes.

Steve would do anything to protect it.

To protect moments like this, lazy on the couch, belly warm with Billy’s stew, Billy’s cold toes digging under his thigh while he smirked at Steve.

He opened his mouth and Steve was already rolling his eyes at the look on his face, poking Steve with his toes.

“I saw you around, you know. That summer, before everything went to shit.”

Steve didn’t like to think about that summer, mostly, so he hadn’t spent much time reflecting back on that first month, when it had been actually, kind of, good.

When Steve’s most immediate problem had been going to his shitty mall job as punishment for failing to get into college on his first try.

When his parents had still been absent but available.

When the shadow of monsters had been easier to ignore in the light of day.

It had been good, for a little while.

He reached down to wrap his hand around Billy’s ankle, rubbing his thumb in a circle around the jut of bone.

“Yeah?”

Billy’s smile turned filthy, all tongue and teeth and dancing eyes.

“Yeah. Saw you strutting all over the place in your little sailor suit. Used to pretend you were dressed up just for me. Used to think about stuffing that ugly little hat in your mouth while I fucked you stupid with your tiny shorts around your ankles. Knee socks on, buttercup.”

And, oh. That sent an unexpected spike of lust right through him.

He hadn’t thought about that stupid uniform in years. He had hated it, the way it made him feel small, and dorky, and awkward. And then he had worn it down an elevator into hell and.

But, he had never thought of it from Billy’s perspective before. He made it sound, well. Hot.

Which should not have been impossible, but, Billy.

Steve shifted his hips on the couch, making room in his tightening pants as he let his hand glide up Billy’s leg, fingers catching on golden hairs.

“No shit? I saw you, too. You were getting an orange julius in your ridiculous lifeguard shorts and a motherfucking crop top. You sucked on that straw like a goddamned cocktease, all wet red lips and bedroom eyes. Looked right at me from across the mall when you did it, too, asshole. I dreamed about you just like that for weeks.”

And then he shut his mouth, because that was veering way to close to disclosing his embarrassing sex dreams, in which the sex was frankly the least embarrassing part.

The gentle kissing and intense eye contact and desperate hand-holding were far more embarrassing than the raw ass-fucking.

Billy sat up straighter, lifting his feet to rest in Steve’s lap, dangerously close to discovering just how much Steve had dreamed about him sucking on that straw.

“You still have it?”

Steve’s brain was running at capacity, picturing Billy in his lifeguard uniform and, who the fuck walked around in a little white crop top like that?

His mouth ran on autopilot for his response, blinking away images of Billy replacing that straw with Steve.

“What?”

Billy snorted like he knew exactly what Steve had been imagining, and maybe he did.

Subtlety was not Steve’s strong suit.

Billy let his foot slip forward, putting pressure on the bulge in Steve’s pants like maybe it was an accident.

Judging by the look on his face, it wasn’t.

“The uniform, dipshit.”

He shoved Billy’s foot off his dick, knocking his legs to the floor.

“What? No, of course not.”

He tried not to think about what had happened to that uniform, hastily throwing the bolts on the vault doors in his mind labeled ’torture’ and ’starcourt mall’ when they started to rattle, blood seeping out from underneath.

Billy remained unaware of Steve’s mental gymnastics, throwing that panty-melting grin his way as he started prowling across the cushions toward Steve, all rolling muscle under the stretch of Steve’s too small tee shirt.

“That’s a damn shame, pretty boy.”

A hint of disappointment touched his face and Steve felt like he had rocks in his throat. He never wanted Billy to look at him with disappointment, it was too close to deep hurts that he tried to keep buried.

He scrambled for something to make it go away, falling back on his old familiar crutch of throwing money at a problem until it disappeared.

“I could, uh. Buy one? Not that one, exactly, but, like. Something else, maybe?”

Steve would never be able to put on another sailor suit as long as he lived, but Billy seemed pretty fired up over the idea of costumes.

Then again, the mocking tilt to his mouth under that raised eyebrow wasn’t exactly encouraging.

Steve wilted beneath it, shoving his hands through his hair as he shook his head.

“Never mind, it’s dumb. I’m dumb. Talking out of my ass. Let’s just forget I said anything.”

Billy lunged forward into his space, eyes sharp on Steve’s face and smirk solidifying when Steve leaned back to give him room.

“No, I don’t think so.”

He snagged Steve’s chin between finger and thumb, pinching hard.

“First off, new rule. You can’t say that shit about yourself anymore, got it?”

Steve just looked at him until Billy sighed and forced him to nod his head by lifting and dropping his chin, sing-songing ’Yes, Billy’ in a screechy, high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like Steve, fuck you very much.

“Secondly, like hell I’m going to forget that you basically just offered to dress up for me. My dick wouldn’t let me forget something like that in a million years. Fuck, I’m hard just thinking about it. What kind of shit would you put on for me, huh, baby? Tell me about it.”

He released the pressure on Steve’s chin, smoothing his thumb over the spot he had pinched before letting his hand trail down Steve’s neck to circle loosely around his throat.

Steve swallowed just to feel the weight of it, spreading his legs as his dick throbbed in his pants.

His mind was so filled with Billy that he couldn’t think, grasping for something Billy had said about shorts.

“I dunno, like. Like, um. Maybe like something short? If you’d even want that?”

Billy hooked his finger in the neck of Steve’s shirt, tugging it down to expose the hollow of his clavicle. He traced it with the same finger, eyes following the movement of his hand.

His voice dropped low, quiet.

Intimate.

“I want it. I want you, all pretty and sweet for me, blushing in some little outfit like a goddamned wet dream. Would you really do something like that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes. Yes, he would.

Steve didn’t know how it wasn’t obvious, that there was very little he wouldn’t do for Billy at this point. He felt like he had it spray painted in red across his forehead by now.

He nodded, sniffing surreptitiously at Billy’s clean hair as he leaned in to lick a hot line in the path of his finger.

“Yeah, Billy. I’d do that for you.”

Steve didn’t say all the other things he would do for him, but he put the echo of them in his words.

He couldn’t help it, they were just there.

Billy pushed him back against the couch, straddling his thighs as he tugged his own shirt off with one hand, tossing it in the general direction of the bedroom. It was so tight that Steve could hear seams popping from the motion.

“Fuck, that’s hot. Maybe I’ll go pick up something one day while you’re at work, lay it out on the bed for you when you get home. What would you think about that?”

Steve’s ears were ringing, heart pounding, just because Billy had used the word home.

Like he thought of Steve’s apartment as his home. Like Steve’s home was his home too.

His voice had to squeak out around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, okay.”

Billy’s smirk softened at the edges as he sat back on Steve’s spread thighs and considered him, ruffling his hair just a little too rough.

“Yeah, okay, he says. Buckle up, princess, because I’m gonna put your money where your mouth is. You’re gonna look so fucking good. C’mere.”

He grabbed Steve by the waistband of his pants, getting to his feet and yanking Steve after him as he backed his way to the bedroom without looking once.

He never stumbled.

It kind of pissed Steve off, how coordinated he was walking backward when Steve could barely navigate himself forward without tripping.

As if to demonstrate, he slipped on Billy’s shirt, arms flailing.

Billy caught him against his chest, laughing before bending his knees to lift Steve in a fucking princess carry to take him into the bedroom.

It was humiliating.

But also insanely hot?

Steve hated it but he also really, really didn’t.

He grumbled and pushed out of his arms when Billy made his way to the bed, dropping Steve on the bedspread like a gangly sack of elbows.

Billy’s voice snapped out like they were on the court.

“Strip.”

Steve struggled out of his clothes, getting his shirt tangled around his head while Billy huffed out a quiet little laugh and helped to get his pants off.

“Tragic, Bambi. What would you do without me, huh?”

And.

Just the thought of that had Steve’s heart scrambling up his throat, teeth clenched against a truly pathetic whine of protest.

Billy didn’t notice, standing beside the bed with his jeans hanging open as he stared down at Steve, running his hands over all of his pale, exposed skin.

“Shit. Couldn’t find an outfit that could improve on this, pretty boy.”

Steve flushed down to his chest at the open, steady regard.

Billy curved one hand under his left leg, lifting it thoughtfully to comb through the dark half on his calf, wrapping Steve’s thigh around his waist as he kneeled on the mattress.

“Sure do miss those fucking socks, though. That shit was lethal. Dick kryptonite.”

Billy pumped his own dick as he said it, slow and tight, muscles cording in his forearm.

Steve’s mouth fell open nearly as fast as his legs, just, ready for it.

That seemed to please Billy. He grinned as he slid the rest of the way out of his jeans and climbed back onto the bed, shoving one arm under the small of Steve’s back to lift him off the mattress and drag him up the bed.

He might have made a helpless, mortifying sound at the manhandling. He resolved to forget it immediately, though, so it basically didn’t happen.

Billy smirked like he was never going to forget it so Steve pushed up on one elbow, poking him in the chest.

“I’ve got a new limit, for this costume shit.”

Billy’s expression went serious and alert. He lifted his hands from Steve’s flanks to rest them on his own thighs, watching and waiting expectantly.

“Yeah?”

Steve let himself fall back on the bed, maintaining eye contact as he wriggled a little to get comfortable in the pillows.

“No hats. I look like yesterday’s garbage in hats. They cover up my best feature.”

He combed his hand through his hair to demonstrate.

Billy’s smile returned, but his eyes were soft as he lifted a hand to Steve’s face, tracing the prominent line of his nose, trailing over his cheek up to the corner of his eye, stroking delicately through his eyebrow before landing, light as a butterfly, on the bow of his lips.

He shook his head, taking in Steve’s face like it was oxygen.

“No, they really don’t, pretty boy.”

Oh.

Well, that was.

Okay.

Steve didn’t have time to dwell on the sharp edge of honesty in Billy’s voice because he immediately folded Steve in half until his knees rested beside his ears and started eating him out like it was his last meal.

The blood rushed to his face in a furious blush as he squeaked once more and Billy fucking smirked directly into his ass.

He pulled back, wiping his face on the back of Steve’s thigh before putting his hands in the hollow of Steve’s knees and leaning his weight forward until he was pinned.

“Bet I can get your ankles behind your head, princess. What do you think about that?”

Steve grunted and squirmed a little, Billy ducking his kicking foot with a bright burst of laughter.

“I think I’d rather you just fuck me, already.”

Billy nipped at the soft skin behind his knee, nuzzling a little as he let up on the pressure so Steve could unfold.

“Patience is a damn virtue or some shit. I’d tell you to keep your panties on, but you already let me toss them to the floor,” he surged up to lick a hard line up Steve’s throat, voice dropping to a filthy whisper, “tell you a secret, Harrington. They look better there anyway.”

Steve knocked his head away, but not too hard, because he wanted to be sure Billy didn’t actually go anywhere.

“You can cut the lines, Hargrove. I’m a sure thing.”

Billy sucked at his collarbone, the shadow of his teeth ghosting across like a promise.

“Never. You like it.”

That was very, unfortunately, true. A character failing on Steve’s part.

It also brought Steve right back to a place where Billy had curled up behind him, curled up inside him until Steve spilled his guts and oh shit now his heart was hammering.

They didn’t talk about it. Didn’t say the words again after Billy shut that bathroom door.

But.

They were out there, now. Naked and squirming, just like Steve was at the moment.

They colored everything they touched like the rosy glow of a sunrise.

The open cradle of Steve’s hips, the breath caught in his throat, the exasperated, endlessly amused roll of his eyes.

Billy’s hands trickling down his rib cage, his smile pressed into Steve’s hair, the warmth of laughter in his cheesy lines.

All of it said “I like you” to Steve, now.

And if, sometimes, he heard an echo of something else, something with the same syllables but with the difference of all the world run through the middle, well. That was Steve’s problem, and no one else’s.

No one needed to know his delusional fantasies.

Least of all the star of them.

Billy’s caressing hands turned impatient, demanding as the slick tip of his cock dragged against the back of Steve’s thigh, sending Steve fumbling for supplies.

They both sighed in relief when he slid inside, fitting himself to all of Steve’s hollow places like Billy was the thing that had been missing all along.

He didn’t get a chance to regret the stupid, sappy, useless thought because Billy started moving and didn’t stop, setting up a rhythm that sent Steve’s fingers scrabbling at the corded muscles of his back.

They did it like this most of the time now, without discussion or debate. Just, face to face, belly to belly, trading moans on every breath.

It felt.

Steve didn’t have the words for how it felt.

None of them quite fit.

None he was willing to think of, anyway.

He was saved from thinking when Billy sat up and changed the angle, getting on his knees to leverage deep, powerful thrusts that had Steve shouting and slapping the headboard.

Billy tried to laugh, but he was too far in it, tongue out and teeth bared as he shook his head down at the wreck that used to be Steve.

“Yeah? You like that? Shit, you’re fucking loud like this.”

Billy slung Steve’s left leg up onto his shoulder, letting the other stay wrapped around his waist, heel digging into his flank with every thrust.

Steve whined and scratched down his chest, arching his back and begging for more.

Billy lit up like a Christmas tree, leaning his weight into every thrust as he searched Steve’s face with bright eyes.

“More? You want more, pretty boy? You want everything I can give you?”

And oh, fuck, if that wasn’t a loaded question.

Steve didn’t have the brain cells left to lie, all three of them focused entirely on Billy.

“Yes, god, yes! Please, Billy.”

Billy caught his chin in his hand, holding Steve’s eyes to his as he traced over his lips, smearing spit like lipgloss with his fingertips.

Billy licked his own lips while he stared down at Steve like he was entranced, hips pistoning steadily. His fingers nudged at the seam of Steve’s lips, firm but gentle.

“Open up, sweetheart.”

Steve let his jaw drop open obediently, making a questioning noise when two of Billy’s fingers slid past his lips.

Billy did that sometimes when he was fingering him open, let Steve get his fingers wet for him, hungrily watching Steve’s tongue coat them in saliva so he could glide them smooth between his legs.

This wasn’t that.

This was something different.

Possessive fingers petted over Steve’s tongue, the rough edges of callouses catching on the soft muscle, exploring the contours of his mouth.

They tasted like salt and sex and Billy and Steve closed his lips around them to suck on instinct, eyelids fluttering. Billy grunted, cock jumping inside him at the pull.

Eyes locked on Steve’s face, Billy started thrusting his fingers slowly in and out of his mouth, dragging the weight of them over Steve’s lips and tongue, lighting a shower of sparks up his spine.

Building up speed until he pressed too hard, nails scraping a little at the back of his throat, making Steve gag and choke with a wet, strangled sound, body clenching around Billy and earning a harsh groan.

He started to pull his hand away but Steve stopped him, reaching up to grab his wrist and sucking hard on his fingers, tongue curled enticingly, beseechingly around the rough pads of them.

Billy looked like Steve had just offered to buy him the sun, eyes on fire.

“Yeah?”

Steve tried to say yes, but garbled it around the fingers he refused to let slip from his mouth, tongue clumsily pressing the word to Billy’s fingertips.

He seemed to get the message.

After a moment’s hesitation, he thrust his fingers slowly, carefully, slowing down his hips until they synced up, filling Steve from both ends in a smooth, rolling wave.

An endless flow of Billy in and out and over and through.

It was overwhelming in all the right ways, Steve’s mind blanking out with bliss.

Releasing Steve’s leg, Billy left him to hold it up himself so that he could close his free hand around Steve’s aching cock, rubbing his thumb in a hard, mean circle over the tip while Steve moaned and shook around his fingers, teeth scraping over the peak of his knuckles.

Billy was breathless, panting raggedly as he leaned over and spat on Steve’s dick, once, twice, and then rubbed it in slick and shiny, wrist rolling in time with his thrusts.

“So good. You take it so good, baby. My pretty boy. My—”

He cut himself off, turning his head to bite into the meat of Steve’s leg and Steve was coming all over himself with a scream barely muffled by Billy’s fingers, limbs locked and shaking.

With a lazy slide, Billy pulled his fingers out, ignoring Steve’s rough whine of protest, dragging a damp trail down his chin to settle on his chest, palm over his heart.

Steve covered it with his own hand, pushing down hard enough that the bones of Billy’s fingers dug into his sternum like he could reach inside.

He said Billy’s name, voice hoarse and low and Billy folded, dropping down on top of Steve, open mouth huffing against his neck as their bellies pressed and rolled together with filthy wet suctioning noises.

Billy’s name fell from his lips, tumbled down the trail left by his fingers, over and over again in a sound like shattered silk until Billy’s muscles bunched, shoving himself as deep as he could go while he filled the condom with a mangled grunt.

When he pulled out to roll over onto his back, he brought Steve with him, one strong arm around his waist keeping him close, draped across his chest as they ignored the mess.

Steve could always shower in the morning. It was worth a little stickiness to have the privilege of watching Billy pull himself together, heartbeat slowing from a gallop to a trot beneath Steve’s ear as he heaved a great sigh and carded those wicked fingers through his hair.

His smile started in the corners of his eyes before ever reaching his lips, curling them soft and sweet and just a little bit arrogant as he stretched and settled beneath Steve’s limp, exhausted weight.

“You really liked that, huh, baby?”

Steve’s three brain cells had burned down to one, floundering weakly in the smoldering remains of his last coherent thought.

He nodded, rubbing his cheek over the solid muscle of Billy’s chest, lips dragging across his pitted scar. His voice had the same rough, ravaged texture when he spoke.

“I like you.”

Panic didn’t set in the way it had the time before. No alarm bells in his head or bated breath. No hammering heart or spiraling fear.

Just Billy, tensing beneath him before relaxing again, shifting and tugging Steve upwards until his face was nestled in the crook of Billy’s shoulder, stubble scratching his forehead as Billy nodded, voice soft.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

And, that.

It wasn’t a big change, but.

It was a significant one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Billy giving us Han Solo vibes with his “I know” bullshit.
> 
> Tag yourself, I’m Steve’s last braincell.


	20. I can feel your heart beat faster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve was woken, heart pounding, by the sound of his front door shaking with repetitive, forceful knocking.
> 
> “Open up, Harrington! It’s the police!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurts, y’all.
> 
> Content Warning: Implied/Referenced domestic violence

Steve was woken, heart pounding, by the sound of his front door shaking with repetitive, forceful knocking.

“Open up, Harrington! It’s the police!”

The voice was female but firm, brooking no argument.

Billy’s face drained of color, panicked eyes finding Steve as he sat up in bed.

Steve squeezed Billy’s shoulder reassuringly, stumbling out of the twisted sheets onto the floor.

“Stay here, I’ll take care of it.”

Steve pulled on a shirt and jeans as the pounding increased in volume and frequency. Billy looked like he was going to be sick.

It was only the insistency of the knocking that kept Steve from pulling him into his arms. He gave him a strong, confident look instead.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be right back.”

The thing was, with the exception of repeatedly hiring a prostitute, Steve was on the right side of the law, in all aspects of his life.

He didn’t have a clue what could have brought the police to his door at, he blearily checked the clock over the stove, eleven o’clock at night. Jesus.

The pounding was so forceful that the door was trembling as Steve stood in front of it, gathering himself to face some unknown, irritated officer of the law.

He opened the door to find worse.

Max Mayfield stood with fist raised like she would be just as happy to pound Steve’s face as she had his door.

Lucas cast apologetic eyes at Steve from over her shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his khaki jacket.

Steve stumbled back as Max shoved him with both hands, following him into the apartment.

“Where is he? I can make you talk, motherfucker!”

The back of Steve’s neck prickled with sweat as he desperately slammed shut all of the bloodstained doors in his mind that led to memories of interrogation, stomach churning with bile.

He held up his hands between them placatingly.

“Okay, alright. Listen, Max, I can tell that you’re upset but-”

She pushed him again, freckled nose lifted right in his face as she followed him, toe to toe.

“Oh, can you, Steve? Maybe you’re not as much of a fuckwit as we all think!”

Lucas placed a hand on her shoulder, standing his ground when she threw it off with a glare.

“Max, Come on.”

She shoved him too, growling when he didn’t budge.

“No! No, he doesn’t get to do this! He can’t hide my brother from me!”

Steve was hyper aware of the closed door to the bedroom, eyes aching with the effort not to look at it.

“I’m sorry, Max, but I can’t just-”

Max’s face went paper white beneath the freckles, eyes like saucers as she reached back blindly to grab onto Lucas’ sleeve.

“Hey, shitbird.”

Steve tripped over his own feet turning to see Billy standing in the hallway in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

Max’s face crumpled, a small wounded sound escaping as Lucas wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her thin, pale fingers twisted the sleeve of his jacket fitfully as she stared greedily at Billy’s face.

“Billy. Oh, my god. You’re alive.”

Billy watched her just as hungrily, eyes scanning over the planes of her face and narrowing at Lucas’ embrace around her waist.

He held out his arms, bent at the elbow and fingers spread, teeth bared in a parody of a smile.

“Ta-da.”

Max sucked in a wet, snotty breath and shot out of Lucas’ arms in a shrieking cyclone of flailing limbs.

Billy rocked beneath the impact as she bowled into him, flinching but otherwise holding still while she slapped at him, ugly, racking sobs rendering her screaming unintelligible.

Steve looked beseechingly at Lucas, who just shrugged and watched Max with the cautious, obsessive fascination of a storm chaser.

Max caught Billy in the chin with her fist, and Steve was done.

“Hey. Max. Stop it, that’s enough!”

Billy finally moved when Steve tried to insert himself between them, lifting Steve with one strong arm and turning away to give Max his back.

The screaming and slapping stopped, all at once.

Billy stayed curled over Steve, face buried in his hair as he took wet, shallow breaths. His arm was tense and shaking against his stomach.

Max sniffed loudly, voice clogged with tears.

“Oh, Billy.”

Billy released Steve fast enough that Steve nearly fell, grabbing onto the back of the couch for stability as Billy turned and backed away, the whites of his eyes showing all around as he watched Max.

Max wasn’t looking at his face.

She was staring at his scars, at the deep, pitted scar in the center of his chest, where he had let a monster rip his heart out to save a little girl.

He stopped and stood with his arms out, chin raised like he was daring her to look.

“What do you think, Max? I make a pretty rad dead guy, right?”

Max shook her head, dropping the hand covering her mouth. She was red and blotchy all over from crying, from her face down to the backs of her hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alive? Billy, we buried you. I cried for weeks. Why—?”

Billy made a harsh, doubtful sound as he sidestepped Steve to flop onto the couch, jittering knee belying his relaxed posture.

“Bullshit, you cried for me. I bet your mom and my dad threw a fucking party.”

Max walked around the back of the couch, reaching out and squeezing Lucas’ hand as she passed, not even acknowledging Steve.

She sat down on the other end of the couch, slowly, gingerly, like Billy was a bird perched for flight.

“It wasn’t like that.”

Billy shook his head, looking down at his own hands now clenched on his knees.

Steve wanted to cup his hand over the vulnerable, exposed nape of Billy’s neck and hold him there, firm and secure, but.

Even he wasn’t stupid enough to try that right now.

When Max spoke, it was in a whisper, and Steve wondered if he was the only one holding his breath to better hear.

“I missed you. Everyday, Billy. Everyday there was something dumb or annoying like your metalhead music and it made me think of you and. I just. Missed you, Billy.”

No reaction, just a tightening of his fingers on his knees, legs bouncing slightly faster.

Max leaned closer, holding out a shaking, blotchy hand across the distance of the cushions.

“I love you.”

Billy shot off the couch, taking large strides to the other side of the room before pointing accusingly at Max, a hysterical edge to his voice that made Steve think of the Byers’ house and broken plates.

“Shut up. Shut up, Maxine! No, you don’t.”

Max jumped to her feet to advance on Billy, her own finger pointed like a weapon, mirroring her brother.

“Fuck you, asshole! Yes! I do!”

Billy’s jaw clenched as he slashed his hand through the air, shoulders twitching as his voice snapped out like a whip.

“No. No, no, no. See, you’re only saying that because you thought I was dead. But you don’t really—fuck!—Max, you wouldn’t say that if you knew about me. What I was and what I am.”

Max’s face softened, eyes welling with tears. Her hand fell limp to her side.

“I do know, Billy. And I still love you, even though you’re still a huge fucking asshole.”

Billy shook his head, turning a tight, furious circle before facing Max with bleak eyes. Steve’s bones ached with the effort it took not to reach out to him.

“No. You don’t know. I did things, Max. I can’t even tell you about all of them because there’s so many I don’t remember. But I know one thing, and it’s this. I’m a disgusting piece of shit. You don’t love me. You can’t.”

It was like he had pulled the pin from a grenade, setting Max off in full spitting, snarling fury.

“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Billy! Fuck off with that bullshit!”

Billy’s face twisted with anguish. Fear and pain and rage a roaring river flooding the room.

“Fuck off with your bullshit, Maxine! You don’t owe me anything, I’m not even your real brother!”

Max scoffed, taking a small step back, and then another. She lifted her arm to her face, dragging her wrist across her eyes.

“Yeah? Well, you’re a real asshole!”

She turned and fled, knocking over the lamp beside the couch with a crash before disappearing down the hall to slam the door to the guest room so hard that glasses rattled in the kitchen cabinets.

Steve turned to Lucas, who was chewing his lip as he peered down the hall. He shook his head at the pointed sound of Steve’s cleared throat, hands up.

“Yeah, no. I’m gonna give her a minute.”

Steve could hardly blame him, but. He did anyway, just a little.

He turned his attention to Billy, thoughts a tangled spiral of damage control.

Would he lash out and break something?

...or somebody?

Steve felt sick for thinking it, but. The possibility was there, aching like shrapnel under the skin.

Billy stood frozen in the same spot he had been standing when Max had stormed out. His eyes were wide and unseeing, staring at the wall as he dug rough fingers into his hair.

Steve moved toward him slowly, carefully. No sudden movements. Face neutral and voice quiet.

“Billy?”

It was like the sound of Steve’s voice snapped him out of it, face contorting with a grimace before shoving past Steve to run into the bedroom.

The siblings slammed doors like they were having a contest.

Billy won.

Steve winced at Lucas as the sound of muffled crashing echoed through the hall, from both rooms in stereo.

Lucas picked up the lamp and set it back on the table, fiddling with the loosened shade.

“She’ll be alright after a little while. Max just needs space, sometimes,” he aimed raised eyebrows at Steve, “I don’t know what yours needs, though. Maybe a Valium. Or three.”

Steve tucked away the tiny thrill he got at Lucas referring to Billy as his, to be taken out later and clutched in greedy hands, turning it over and over in his mind as he went to sleep.

Now, though. He needed to focus. Figure out a way to help Billy feel better.

Maybe if he bought them both a new car—

He jumped as his bedroom door slammed open again, Billy stalking out in ripped jeans and one of Steve’s sweaters, boots laced haphazardly onto his feet.

He didn’t even look at them when he walked past, jaw carved from granite with an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips.

Billy grabbed his coat off the hook, slinging his arms angrily through the sleeves before he yanked open the front door.

Steve rocketed into motion, chasing after him to grab onto the sleeve of his coat.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

He winced internally at sounding like a spurned, nagging housewife, but, shit. Billy really shouldn’t be going out like this, all of his pain on display. It wasn’t safe, for him or anyone else.

Billy shrugged him off, hard, knocking Steve aside with a stray elbow to the solar plexus, leaving him breathless and sore.

“I need a fucking drink.”

The slamming of the front door didn’t quite disguise the sound of Billy’s boots stomping down the hallway to the stairs, forgoing the elevator entirely.

Steve stood there and listened until he couldn’t hear him anymore.

Silently screaming at himself to follow.

Lucas muttered a low, heartfelt curse and Steve sprung into action, digging his keys out of the bowl on the counter, blood going cold as he realized that Billy had left his own key behind.

How was he going to get home?

The possibility that Billy might not come back smashed into Steve with the bone-crushing impact of a mac truck.

He grabbed his shoes, perching on the arm of the couch to lace them up before walking past Lucas to get to his entryway.

Lucas touched him on the arm with two fingers, face stark.

“Steve, don’t.”

Steve shook his head so hard that his hair flopped in his face and he had to comb it back with unsteady fingers.

“He’s not going to the fucking Ritz, Lucas.”

Steve fumbled his wallet into his pocket, breathing hard though his nose, considering whether he should bring the bat.

“He’s gonna find some dive bar to get trashed. I’m afraid he might pick a fight he can’t win. I’ve gotta go after him.”

He didn’t voice the fear that it might be more than a fight that Billy went looking for, that it might be rough hands and degrading words and a return to the dark, self-destructive things he had been doing before Steve stumbled across his path.

It wasn’t the thought of Billy with another man that cut the deepest. It was the thought of Billy putting his self-hatred into a stranger’s hands like a weapon.

As if it wasn’t something he had already put in Steve’s hands like a blown-glass heart.

Even knowing all of that, the thought of walking into a bar after the long, hard sober months made Steve’s stomach flip over like the thought of walking into a tunnel to another dimension.

He took his coat down from the hook, stopping in place as Lucas pulled it from his hands and hung it back up.

Steve had to look up at him now, something he still wasn’t quite used to.

Lucas wrapped one large hand around Steve’s shoulder and squeezed, dark brown eyes warm with compassion.

“I’ll go.”

Steve shook his head, keys fisted in his shaking hands.

“You don’t know how he gets. Things could go south quick and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Lucas raised incredulous eyebrows. When the fuck had he grown out that mustache? It made him look older than Steve, for fucks sake.

“Oh, I remember how he gets. But I’m not thirteen anymore. Max made me take Krav Maga lessons with her, and I’m like a foot taller than that angry little asshole. I think I can handle myself.”

Steve felt himself wavering, hands going slack around his keys.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. And I don’t—I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Lucas rubbed a hand rapidly over the top of his curly head like he was trying to generate static before giving Steve a long, searching look.

“I know, Steve. Do you? I mean, do you even know what you’re doing with him?”

Steve didn’t have an answer to that and just looked up at him helplessly.

Lucas rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“Yeah, okay. Enough with the baby deer eyes. That shit doesn’t work on me like it does on Dustin. Stay here, take care of Max for me. I’ll go bring your rabid Rottweiler home in one piece.”

Max didn’t answer the door when he knocked, but when Steve went to the bathroom and came back out, the glass of water and slice of Billy’s pound cake that he had set outside of her room was gone.

He didn’t do anything else while he waited. No television, no tidying.

Just stared at the wall and hashed through all of his regrets, all of the things he didn’t say or do that might have convinced Billy to stay.

It felt like days, but the door finally opened, Lucas kicking it wider with a grunt as he dragged Billy in, arm slung limply across his broad shoulders.

Steve shot to his feet and was across the room before his next breath.

Billy didn’t even notice him, looking up at Lucas blearily, blood crusted beneath his nose and over his chin.

His voice was slow and heavy, slurring his words.

“I’m sorry.”

Lucas angled his head away from Billy’s face, sighing as Steve relieved him of his burden, taking Billy’s not inconsiderable weight over his own narrower shoulders.

“It’s fine, Steve’ll take care of you, he’s good at that stuff. Dustin says he was a mother hen in a past life.”

Billy shook his head so hard they almost fell, hair whipping Steve’s cheek.

“No. I’m sorry for. When we were kids. I didn’t—I was scared. He would’ve hurt her, if he knew. Hurt her so fucking bad, man.”

Lucas’ lips tightened down into a hard line, sharp jaw pulsing as he stared at Billy’s bloody face. His hand rolled into a fist before he tucked it in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah, I know. She had a real bad time for a while after you died. But Steve saw what was happening and he took care of it, gave her and her mom a place to stay. Found a job across the country for Neil. We haven’t seen him since Susan got a divorce.”

Billy blinked at him, blood dripping sluggishly from his nose.

“M’gonna hurl.”

Lucas made himself scarce while Steve put Billy back together, holding his hair and cleaning his face, helping him wash his mouth out.

He couldn’t find any damage besides a busted nose, not broken, thankfully.

Something untwisted in his chest as he put Billy to bed with gentle hands, dressed in Steve’s pajama pants and a fresh George Michael shirt.

Billy didn’t protest when Steve tucked himself up behind him, already snoring.

Steve woke with a start, heart pounding. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand, 3:45 am. The apartment was silent.

The mattress shook, just slightly, underneath him and he turned to see Billy curled up on his side facing the wall.

His shoulders were shaking, rough and rhythmically and completely, achingly silent.

Steve scooted over on the mattress, sliding his arm slowly and carefully around the hollow of Billy’s belly, freezing when Billy went stock still, both of them holding their breath.

He eased closer, pressing against his back and lining up his knees in the space behind Billy’s, burying his nose in his hair.

Billy held his breath for a worryingly long time, tense and still in Steve’s arms.

He broke with a wrenching gasp, curling in harder on himself as he trembled and shook.

Steve made nonsensical shushing noises, pressed like kisses to the nape of his neck, hand rubbing soft, careful circles over his shuddering belly.

Billy rolled over in his arms, pushing Steve to his back as his hands scrabbled at the waistband of Steve’s pajamas, fumbling underneath to squeeze his soft dick.

“Whoa. Okay. What are you doing?”

Steve covered his hands, pulling them away as Billy breathed heavily above him.

“I woke you up. Gotta make it worth your while, baby.” Billy’s sexy drawl was marred significantly by the thick residue of tears in his throat, sinuses congested from the busted nose.

His hands drifted low again, rubbing so hard that Steve almost couldn’t feel them shaking.

He circled Billy’s wrists lightly, tugging his hands up to rest on his stomach with a slow, firm shake of his head.

“That’s not what you need.”

Billy dropped low, bracing his forearms around Steve’s shoulders as he hissed in his ear.

“What I need is to keep my job. You wanna fuck me, Harrington? I’m too drunk to get it up, but you can do whatever you want to me. Give it to me hard. Break my fucking back.”

Steve took a measured breath, bringing his arms up around Billy’s back, sliding one under the edge of his shirt. His skin was cold and clammy.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever I want, right?”

Billy’s affirmative answer, quiet and relieved, broke his heart in two.

He pulled down firmly with his hands flat against Billy’s shoulder blades, shushing him as he tried to lick and suck at Steve’s throat, arranging him until he lay his head on Steve’s chest, one leg hooked over Steve’s thighs.

“What the fuck is this?” Billy whispered, shaky breath stirring the hair on Steve’s chest.

Steve petted his curls, smoothing them down from forehead to nape, over and over again.

“This is me, giving you what you need. That’s what I want, Billy. Just that.”

Billy’s fingers clenched quick and cruel in Steve’s chest hair, making him hiss through his teeth. He released him just as quickly, resting his palm flat over the sore spot. He voice reached for strident but only got halfway there, wobbling a little at the edges.

“You wanna fucking cuddle, princess?”

Steve sighed so deeply that Billy’s head rose and fell with the motion of his chest, wrapping the arm that wasn’t petting him tight around his back to pull him even closer.

“Yeah, Billy. I wanna cuddle. Deal with it.”

Billy lay tense and rigid on top of him until Steve started lightly tracing the curve of his ear, relaxing in tiny, painful increments.

Steve whispered so softly that he wasn’t sure Billy would be able to hear him, afraid of speaking too loudly and frightening him off like some wary majestic forest creature.

“Good. That’s good, Billy. Now, just tell me what you need. Please.”

Billy didn’t answer for such a long time that Steve was sure he hadn’t heard him until he rasped directly into Steve’s chest, eyes shut against the lamplight.

“Sing.”

It felt like a reward. Getting Billy to admit to something he wanted, something he needed from Steve. It made a garden bloom in his chest right under Billy’s ear.

He considered cracking a joke about his singing voice, but something in the rigid line of Billy’s shoulders told him to hold it back.

Steve started with a quiet hum, self conscious of his mediocre abilities and still afraid to disturb the quiet in the room. Billy sighed and went limp against him, nuzzling into his chest and Steve lost all fear.

He sang about the ocean, soft and low and quiet and only slightly out of tune until Billy started snoring, mouth open over Steve’s collarbone.

It felt like a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😭😭😭
> 
> Who called Max showing up?


	21. Listen, honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy hovered over the stove, piling pancakes so high on the plate that Steve feared for the structural integrity of the tower.
> 
> He aimed his spatula at the guest room door, voice flat.
> 
> “They sleep together last night?”
> 
> Steve ran through several responses in his head before settling on “Uhhhh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad for leaving y’all with all those sad Billy feels, so here’s the next chapter.

Billy hovered over the stove, piling pancakes so high on the plate that Steve feared for the structural integrity of the tower.

He aimed his spatula at the guest room door, voice flat.

“They sleep together last night?”

Steve ran through several responses in his head before settling on “Uhhhh.”

Billy flipped a pancake angrily, spatula grating against the pan. The tense line of his shoulders twitched with the movement.

“That shit happen a lot? My teenage sister comes over to your place and you let her shack up with Sinclair?”

Steve sighed, looking around for his favorite mug. He needed coffee for this.

“It’s fine, Billy. They’ve been together for years.”

He flinched as the spatula hit the far wall with a hollow thunk, leaving grease smeared across the wallpaper. Billy clicked the range off before turning to spear Steve with his gaze.

“Fine. It’s fine? She’s only eighteen, dipshit!”

The thought that took Steve out at the knees was that Billy had been only seventeen when he had died.

His throat went dry at the memory, heart aching.

Billy crossed his arms over his chest, settling into a good hard glare.

Steve ruffled his hair, sweeping it up off of his face, too tired to give a shit how it looked.

“They’ve been good for each other, and they’re both adults now. I know it might be hard for you to accept that Max has grown up, but—”

Billy dropped his arms and advanced on Steve, tight, unhappy lines bracketing his mouth.

“No, Harrington. You don’t know. I won’t let her end up like me, and my mom, and her mom. Just trading what’s between her legs for any little shred of affection and security. Whoring for scraps. Max is better than that.”

He could have reached into the knife block behind him and stabbed Steve through the chest with a butcher’s knife and it would have been less painful.

Steve swallowed back the guilt clawing up his throat like stomach acid.

“So are you, Billy. You’re better than that, too. You deserve better than that.”

Billy gave him a look so speaking it might have been a scream.

“Yeah, sure I am. What do you want tonight, baby? My mouth, my dick, or my ass? You’ve put a down payment on the total package so, buyer’s choice.”

Steve flinched like he’d been slapped, the sting of it bringing shameful tears to his eyes. He curled his fingers into the hem of his sweater, eyes sliding away from Billy’s scowling face.

“It’s not like that between them. They’re in love.”

Billy made a rude noise to demonstrate exactly what he thought of that before yanking the refrigerator open to pull out the butter and maple syrup.

Steve backed away to let him pass, turning to find Lucas hovering in the archway, obviously undecided about joining them.

Steve slipped into the kitchen to make up two mugs of coffee, putting on a second pot and bringing the unsweetened mug to Lucas with an encouraging smile.

He sat at the head of table and Lucas followed slowly and carefully, sliding into the chair to his right.

Billy flung the pancakes on the table, flipping the chair on Steve’s other side around to sit astride it across from Lucas and stare him down like he thought he was in a goddamned western.

Lucas sipped his coffee, watching Billy glare at him over the rim, leaning forward menacingly over the table.

He sighed, putting the mug down and holding his arms outstretched.

“What? Do you want something or are you just trying to see if you can make me spontaneously combust?”

Billy licked the edge of his teeth, eyes hard on Lucas’ face, fingers gripping the top of the chair so tightly Steve expected to see dents when he pulled away.

“You’re a college guy, right? What the fuck for? Gonna get a useless piece of paper and then do bitchwork in an office the rest of your life?”

Steve hissed at him to stop it as Lucas threw his head back on a groan.

“Oh my god, you’re such an asshole. No, man. I’m pre-med. Gonna be a pulmonologist.”

Billy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“That shit make money?”

Lucas just watched him for a few tense, silent seconds before shaking his head with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Yeah. Yeah, man. That shit makes money. What the hell do you care?”

Billy finally looked away, hands curling into fists on the table.

“If Max is gonna ride your shriveled dick into the sunset,” Lucas coughed on a horrified laugh and Steve spat out his coffee, Billy just talking louder over the sound, “then I gotta make sure you can provide for her. Take good goddamned care of her. Don’t want her to end up in a shitty house on a shitty street with a shitty husband like her fucking mom.”

Lucas took a sharp, surprised breath and then burst into rib-splitting laughter, nearly falling out of his seat as he wiped tears from his eyes.

An angry red flush started up Billy’s neck, climbing all the way to the throbbing vein in his forehead as he watched Lucas laugh and laugh.

Steve considered grabbing onto Lucas and making a break for the front door. Max was going to kill him if he let Billy bust her boyfriend’s face over the breakfast table.

With instincts honed from years of skirting danger, Lucas shut up all at once, straightening in his chair with his hands held palms-out.

“Whoa. Hey, I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just, the idea of Max needing me to take care of her. I just thought of her in an apron with a duster in her hand and, oh my god, I can’t. It’s too much.”

Billy sucked his teeth disdainfully, Lucas scrunching up his nose at the sound.

Steve started forking pancakes onto his plate, trying to pile them high enough to cut off Billy’s glare.

Billy pushed his plate out of the way, the top pancake sliding off to flop sadly onto the table.

He picked up his butter knife, wielding it like a switchblade in Lucas’ face. Steve buried his own face in his hands, giving up on any illusion of normalcy.

“You like to hit girls, Sinclair?”

Lucas’ chair legs scraped against the tile as he shoved back from the table. Steve lifted his head up to watch, ready to jump in if needed.

“What? What the fuck? No! What the hell is wrong with you?”

Billy flipped the knife over his knuckles and back into his fist with nimble fingers. Steve absolutely hated the way that hit him right in the dick, adjusting himself under the table and thinking about financial projections as hard as he could.

Billy continued in a casual tone, entirely, blessedly oblivious to the effect of his knife skills on Steve.

“I’m just saying, Max can be a mouthy little bitch. Maybe sometimes a big guy like you wants to put her in her place. Lay down the law and shit. Teach her some respect.”

Steve’s head whipped around at the last word, at the fragile, jagged edge to Billy’s voice. The way it fell from his lips like a guillotine.

Lucas’ mouth firmed for a few silent seconds before he leaned in toward Billy, hands flat on the table and voice serious.

“Max would, and this is a direct quote, ’cut off my dick and choke me with it’ if I ever tried to, what did you say? Lay down the law. But, listen, I get why you’re worried. And it’s never gonna be like that, I swear.”

“He’s nothing like Neil, Billy. That’s why I like him.”

Steve spun around in his seat to aim pleading eyes at Max as she emerged in plaid pajama pants and a shirt so big it obviously belonged to her boyfriend.

She ran her hand over Lucas’ shoulders on her way into the kitchen, pulling milk out of the fridge and drinking directly from the carton, wiping her mouth off on her forearm with challenging eyebrows raised at Steve.

Fondness squeezed out disgust by a hair. She really was so much like her brother.

She tossed the milk back in the fridge and approached the table, freezing in place at the stack of pancakes.

“Blueberry buttermilk pancakes?”

Billy looked anywhere but at her, digging the blunt tip of his knife into the glass surface of the table, trying his hardest to leave a mark. One shoulder lifted in a shrug.

Max sat down hard in the chair next to Lucas, grabbing a stack of three pancakes with her bare hands and dropping them onto her plate.

She picked up a fork and stabbed the top cake, bringing the whole thing up to her lips and taking a tiny bite.

She laid the impaled pancake back on top of her plate, studying Billy like she was trying to remember forgotten snatches of a foreign language.

“They’re fluffy.”

Billy’s nostrils flared, staring a hole in the table in front of him. Steve risked a confused glance at Lucas, who shook his head silently like he didn’t have any more idea what was going on than Steve did.

She cut another, bigger bite, closing her eyes as she chewed. Billy made a small, soft noise in his throat when a tear ran down her cheek.

Steve couldn’t help it. He reached out to place a hand on Billy’s knee under the table, shocked when he covered Steve’s hand and squeezed hard.

Max wiped her face on her sleeve, watching Billy with sparkling eyes.

“Your mom’s recipe?”

Billy nodded, a muscle in his jaw working as he dropped the knife to the table with a metallic clatter.

Steve was losing circulation in his hand. He might lose a couple of fingers but, Christ, it was worth it.

Max cut a huge bite and stuffed it in her mouth, moving it to one side so she could speak around it.

“They’re still the best, you dick.”

Billy’s smile rose slow and soft and sweet over his face like the sun over a hill on a cloudy day. Hazy and bright and so very welcome after the long dark hours that came before.

Billy picked up the maple syrup and drizzled it over Steve’s pancakes, giving his hand a final squeeze before letting go.

“Eat up, assholes.”

Steve and Lucas looked on in bewilderment as the siblings tucked into their meal like somebody was going to take it from them, dropping all semblance of emotional discourse in favor of fighting over the syrup.

Billy only relented when Max jabbed him with a fork, shaking his hand and laughing and—

Oh, god, Steve wanted to kiss him so fucking bad.

He settled for reaching over to take Billy’s sore hand in his, brushing his lips across his scarred knuckles like Billy was a fairytale princess.

Billy yanked his hand away, the ghost of laughter still on his face, to wipe the kiss off on his shirt along with a smear of sticky syrup.

When Steve looked up, Max was watching him through narrowed eyes, face sharp and calculating and making him want to drop a little lower in his seat.

They somehow managed to make it through breakfast without another fight, which Steve was counting as a small miracle.

Lucas helped clear the table while Max got dressed, taking Billy’s empty plate like he expected to get bitten for it.

Which was not a huge stretch, so. Smart.

Steve asked about their plans for the day and Lucas shrugged, drying off the pan while Steve rinsed the soap from his hands.

“We’ve gotta drive back to Indianapolis. There wasn’t like, a plan or anything when we left. Just, Max. You know?”

He knew, all right. Max and Billy were just forces of nature. Sometimes there was nothing to do but get swept away with them.

Billy piped up from the couch, where he had been pretending to read his muscle magazine, eyes snapping to Lucas.

“What car are you driving? You keep it tuned up? How many miles until your next oil change?”

Lucas looked at Steve, like Steve was going to answer for him. It took a creative combination of eyebrow waggling and chin jerking for him to turn back to Billy.

“How the fuck should I know?”

Billy stood up, slapping his magazine down on the coffee table as he went to put on his coat and shoes.

“C’mon Sinclair, get off your ass. Time to get your hands dirty.”

The expression on Lucas’ face held such acute disgust that Steve wanted a camera to preserve it.

“That’s not really my thing.”

Billy cracked his neck before jutting his chin in Lucas’ direction.

“You know how to tune up that car?”

Lucas pulled his arms in tight to his sides, hands in pockets like he was trying to look smaller.

“Max and I don’t really subscribe to traditional gender roles, actually, and—”

Billy rolled his eyes before reaching out to grab Lucas’ jacket and shove him out the door.

“I don’t give a shit. Move your ass.”

Max emerged from the Cave of Awesomeness after another ten minutes. Steve jolted a little as he turned to find her staring him down from where he had been peering through the window shade down at Billy teaching Lucas how to check the oil.

Steve’s palms started sweating at the look on her face. He wiped them off on his pants before holding them out beseechingly.

“Max. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.”

Nothing on her face moved from position, holding firm.

“I’m still pissed at you, Steve, so don’t even flash the Bambi eyes, they won’t work.”

Why did people keep saying that to him?

He gave a subdued nod before checking out the window again, Max joining him to peer down at the bickering men below.

The harsh note of anger had dropped from her voice, but she still cracked it like a whip when she wanted something.

“Where did you find him, anyway?”

Honesty.

Total honesty.

He could do that, for her, at least.

“Here, in Chicago. Outside of a warehouse, one night.”

Max, freshly recruited to the police academy, read between the lines at a glance, her face rippling with pain before going hard again.

“What were you doing there in the first place?”

Her tone was accusatory, and rightfully so. Steve shouldn’t have gone out that night, but Jesus Christ, he couldn’t regret it.

“It’s been a bad year.”

She didn’t make him say it. She knew why Steve had been having a bad year. She was one of the party members Dustin had called when he had found Steve passed out and choking.

She stared out the window down at Billy, fingers tight on the shade.

“Does he even want to be here, or is he just hanging around for the money?”

Deep inside of Steve, it felt like there was a tangle of wires sometimes, all knotted together and sparking in sharp, randombursts of pain.

It felt like she had reached through his chest and ripped them out.

It was agony.

Steve tried to put a light spin on his words, but he couldn’t disguise the sincerity of them.

“That’s the million dollar question. As in, I would literally pay a million dollars to find out.”

Max hummed noncommittally, dividing her staring equally between the Steve in her face and her family down on the curb.

“He cook for you?”

The non sequitur threw Steve for a loop.

“What?”

She huffed like he was being difficult, letting go of the blinds with a snap.

“I know you’re not actually an idiot, Steve. Try to keep up. Like, this morning. He do that a lot?”

Everyday. Since the lasagna, actually, now that he thought of it. He answered with a perplexed nod.

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, he does. He’s an amazing cook, actually.”

Her eyes were searching Steve for something, stripping him bare and rifling through his bones for it.

“Yeah. He ever make anything weird? With, like, beets or some shit in it?”

Steve wouldn’t have said weird. Different, certainly. He loved everything that Billy made.

“Sometimes he does, makes stuff I can’t pronounce but it’s so good, especially that stew.”

Max nodded, some of the tension releasing from her shoulders, dropping them down in a relaxed position as her lips kicked up at the corner.

“I got bad news, Steve.”

His heart seized in his chest, throat thickening until he couldn’t speak, just aim wide eyes at Max as she shook her head with that Mona Lisa smile.

“Sounds like Billy’s here to stay. Congrats, you’ve bagged the biggest asshole on the planet.”

His breath whooshed out on an embarrassing rush of air, tilting Max’s smile up into a shark-toothed grin.

It looked so much like Billy’s that Steve’s dumb ass found it as endearing as it was terrifying.

“And, Steve?”

He was floating so high that her sweet, light tone made him turn to her with a smile.

She leaned in like she was looming over him while he looked down his nose at the top of her frizzy head.

“If you fuck this up, they will never find your body.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is cooking Billy’s love language? What’s he been saying to Steve, then?


	22. So, won’t you say you love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy after Max was a whole new minefield.
> 
> Steve found himself stumbling through, setting him off regularly without ever meaning to.
> 
> Billy was both more soft and rough by turns, letting Steve in with a shy smile and then kicking him out with a snarl.
> 
> It was dizzying.
> 
> But.
> 
> If Steve had been keeping score, he would have said that he won more progress than he lost, overall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been intense recently, and it’s been difficult to get time for writing trash.  
> Here’s the smut I managed to put together.

Billy after Max was a whole new minefield.

Steve found himself stumbling through, setting him off regularly without ever meaning to.

Billy was both more soft and rough by turns, letting Steve in with a shy smile and then kicking him out with a snarl.

It was dizzying.

But.

If Steve had been keeping score, he would have said that he won more progress than he lost, overall.

Billy might snap and grumble and act like a dick, but, once Steve made some headway, he didn’t take it back.

Steve was now allowed to put his hands on Billy, whenever he wanted, without it leading directly to sex.

Which felt like a victory worth celebrating as they sat curled up on the couch watching Star Trek reruns, Steve’s hand buried in Billy’s curls.

He stopped rubbing his scalp to reach for his Perrier and Billy bumped against his hand insistently with a soft, pleading noise and Steve wanted to live in this moment for the rest of his life.

Billy didn’t acknowledge Steve’s return to rubbing and scratching his head except to close his eyes and go boneless and heavy where he was propped against his side.

His own hand was wrapped around Steve’s ankle where he had it laid across his knee, fingers drawing slow, lazy circles over his skin.

“You have a good day?”

Steve didn’t mean to freeze, but.

Billy had never done that before.

Never initiated that kind of inane, caring, domestic conversation that wasn’t centered around what Steve wanted to eat.

He would shout out a vague salutation when Steve left for work in the mornings, but nothing when he came home again.

Steve had assumed that he didn’t give a shit about how Steve’s day went, because, why would he?

Billy had gone stiff and quiet beside him as Steve remained silent and motionless. He started to remove his hand from Steve’s ankle, prompting Steve into motion, clapping his own hand over the top of Billy’s to keep him in place.

“Yeah, sorry. Yeah. It was good. Fine. No board meetings, so. I felt less stupid than usual.”

Billy grabbed a couple of hairs on Steve’s leg and yanked them out, harsh and quick, with a muffled growl.

He had started doing that, frowning or pinching or, apparently, pulling out leg hairs whenever Steve mentioned how stupid he was.

Steve slapped his hand away with a yelp, rubbing at the sore bit of skin just above his ankle.

“Geez. Stop doing that! I’m sorry, alright?”

Billy licked his hand and shoved it under Steve’s fingers, rubbing his spit over the sore place.

“Quit saying it, then, dicklick.”

Steve let Billy rub his gross fingers on his leg, combing his own fingers back through Billy’s hair, urging his head against his shoulder.

“How was yours? Day, I mean. Your day. How was it?”

Wow.

Smooth, Steve.

Flawless execution.

Billy’s fingers slowed and stopped, his hand withdrawing from Steve’s leg.

“Fine.”

Steve decided to ignore the flat tone and stiff body language, continuing to pet his hair like nothing had changed.

“Oh? What did you do? Tell me about it.”

Billy shrugged, still stiff, but he didn’t pull away, and that was already a victory.

“Nothing. Worked out. Read a book. Tried a new recipe for dinner. Boring shit.”

Steve took a handful of curls and tugged gently, angling Billy’s head back until he could meet his eyes.

“Not boring. I, for one, really appreciate your workouts,” He waggled his eyebrows to Billy’s huffing amusement, “not to mention how much I appreciate your recipes.”

The kitchen timer beeped and Billy pushed off the couch, using Steve’s head for leverage over his complaints.

“Yeah, because if it were up to you, we’d have died of food poisoning by now.”

Steve swatted at his hip as he danced away to head into the kitchen.

“You can eat my whole ass, fuckface.”

Billy called back over his shoulder, pulling on his red gingham oven mitts. Steve was starting to have, like, a thing for those, now.

“Hold on, honey, let me take this casserole out of the oven and I’ll get right to it!”

He pulled the casserole out and placed it on the cooktop before shucking his mitts and spreading the first two fingers of one hand to stick his tongue between and wiggle it in Steve’s direction.

Steve threw a pillow at him, laughing.

“You’re disgusting.”

Billy batted the pillow away with a wide grin before returning to claim his spot on the couch.

“Shut up, you love it.”

It was common knowledge that Steve was an idiot. And thus he should not have been so surprised when his mouth opened to tumble out words that he had meant to keep locked inside.

“I love—”

Billy’s eyes snapped to him, wide and warning, and Steve deflated, pressing back into the cushions.

“Casserole. I love casserole, so. Just. Super psyched to eat it.”

No one was fooled. Billy continued to stare him down as Steve fidgeted in mortification. His face and neck burned with a vicious blush.

“Yup. Love a good casserole. Sure do.”

Billy put his hand back on Steve’s ankle, tight like a vise.

“Harrington.”

Steve looked up questioningly, panic making his chest rise and fall more rapidly. Billy’s face was hard, lips turned down in a scowl, voice scraping low.

“Thought I told you to shut up.”

Adrenaline hit Steve like a fist, blood pumping and skin buzzing. He wrapped his hand around Billy’s wrist, breaking his grip on Steve’s ankle with a hard yank.

“Make me.”

Billy surged forward with a growl, pinning Steve to the couch with strong arms and heavy hips.

Steve dropped his chin just enough to press his lips to Billy’s clenched jaw, taking his aggression and feeding him back nothing but gentleness.

Billy bit and growled and clawed so Steve just licked and sighed and petted until Billy shoved away with a snarl.

“The fuck are you doing right now?”

Steve gave his best smooth-guy smile, offering an obnoxious waggle of his eyebrows.

“Necking.”

Billy’s surprised laugh was higher, and dorkier, and better than any of the other ways he used laughter as a buffer with the world.

Steve loved it.

Billy laughed until he was breathless, snickering and pushing Steve’s head away just hard enough to know he didn’t mean it.

“What are you, a sixteen year old girl? Gonna let me get my filthy paws under your sweater tonight, princess? Slide a hand up your little skirt? Or are you keeping your legs crossed until I put a ring on your finger?”

It wasn’t supposed to make Steve’s heart speed up. It was supposed to make him laugh and shove Billy back, but his heart didn’t get the memo.

He pushed up to sit opposite Billy, eyes fierce on his smiling face.

“No. But I am gonna suck you off until you beg me to stop.”

Billy wasn’t laughing anymore.

Surprise washed across his face, followed swiftly by desire, eyes burning into Steve’s.

“Oh, yeah?”

Steve pounced, shoving Billy onto his back with two flat palms on the meat of his chest, grasping his shirt and ripping it off over his head as they fell.

“You heard me.”

Billy arched beneath him, flexing and preening under Steve’s roaming hands.

“Well, then, quit stalling and get to work, princess.”

Steve bit him just shy of his nipple and Billy gasped, making a strangled noise in his throat as Steve kissed the red mark from his teeth. Steve sucked his nipple into his mouth, working it with his tongue as Billy squirmed and cursed, kicking the last pillows off the couch with restless legs.

Steve pulled off to lay a trail of kisses across his chest, hesitating over the deepest pit of scarring before pressing his gentlest kiss right in the center of it.

Billy snorted derisively, body going still.

“Gonna try to kiss it better, pretty boy?”

Steve looked up at him through the wild curtain of the hair that had flopped down over his forehead, face serious.

“Yes.”

Billy wasn’t expecting that, smile freezing on his face. His muscles tensed under Steve’s lips, hands fisting in his hair.

Steve kept going, drifting kisses along the spread of scar tissue, feathering his eyelashes at the intersections of smooth and rough skin, rubbing his face over every inch.

Billy’s breath caught in his throat, fingers clenching and relaxing.

“You don’t need to do that.”

Steve nodded, dragging his hair over Billy’s skin, kissing the twist of scar tissue that wrapped around his ribs.

“I know. I want to.”

Billy tugged his head up with a hard hand buried in his hair. He looked terrified.

“Steve.”

Steve turned his head to kiss his wrist before dropping back down to kiss the jumping muscles of his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful and so strong. You don’t even know, Billy. God, I want to kiss you everywhere.”

His emphasis on the word ’everywhere’ did not go unnoticed. Billy licked his lips, eyes focused on the wet swell of Steve’s as they hovered below his navel.

He shook his head, mouth forming into a hard line as he reached down and yanked on Steve’s shirt.

“Off. Get all this shit off, already.”

Steve complied, dropping his shirt off the side of the couch before hooking his hands in Billy’s waistband and pulling his sweatpants all the way off, laying him completely bare.

He worked on kicking his own pants off as he lowered his face back down to Billy’s belly, placing open-mouthed kisses in a meandering line.

His cheek brushed against the tip of Billy’s hard cock and Billy groaned, one hand flying out to grab onto the couch cushion beside them.

Steve watched him through his lashes as he traced the crown with his bottom lip, tongue darting out to taste before pressing a deep, smutty kiss to his frenulum, coaxing the foreskin back with his thumb.

Billy bucked his hips, tossing his head with a growl when Steve just dodged out of the way and waited for him to lie still before starting his kisses over at the ridge of his hipbone.

“Gorgeous,” he kissed a thin white scar low on his belly, “amazing,” he kissed the soft, smooth skin at the crease of his thigh, “incredible,” he kissed the base of his cock, nose buried in golden curls.

Billy shifted beneath him, breathing harshly through his nose as he spoke through clenched teeth.

“You can shut up with that shit, already. You know I’m a sure fucking thing.”

Steve pressed his words into Billy’s skin between soft, slow kisses.

“Brilliant. Wonderful. Perfect.”

Billy snatched a fistful of hair at the back of Steve’s head, forcing it back to meet flaming blue eyes.

“I said, shut up.”

Steve let his mouth fall open, wet tongue tracing over the curve of his lower lip.

“Make me.”

Billy’s cock tasted like desire, hot with musk and salt, sliding past Steve’s lips all the way to the back of his throat.

Billy’s hand was firm on Steve’s head, urging him down without much force at all, just enough for Steve to know how much he wanted it.

He really, really wanted it.

Steve moaned around Billy’s cock and Billy made a rough, deep noise and lifted his hips, hand going soft, fingers combing through Steve’s hair.

“Jesus. Is that what you fucking wanted, baby?”

Steve would have nodded if he didn’t have a mouthful of hard cock. He settled for stroking Billy’s thighs instead.

They were so strong, thick with muscle, and Steve tried to use his hands like they were lips, trailing kisses with his fingertips over every inch.

He gagged as Billy shoved his hips up, pulling off to make hoarse shushing noises and kiss his way back up Billy’s shaft.

“Beautiful.”

Billy’s face twisted like he was in pain. Steve took the head back in his mouth, cupped it with his tongue, and sucked him down.

He started up a rhythm of hard, slow sucks, head bobbing at a measured pace.

Billy went a little wild, fingers clawing at the cushions and curses spilling from his bitten lips. His hips moved in tiny, aborted thrusts, gentled back down by Steve’s thumbs rubbing soft circles over them.

His cock swelled, hardening just a little further, and Steve pulled off, switching to soft, tiny kisses to Billy’s consternation until he settled back from the edge.

He repeated the cycle twice more, licking up the precum welling from the tip as Billy writhed and cursed, slick with sweat.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?”

Steve worked his shaft with his hand, mouthing absently at his foreskin as it slid back over the head.

He peeked up at Billy to find him watching avidly, face red and panting. Steve’s heart was a battering ram behind his ribs.

“I’m making love to you.”

The breath caught in Billy’s throat, cock jumping in Steve’s hand, voice a harsh whisper in the air between them.

“Shit.”

Steve sucked him back down, speeding up just a little and Billy was almost immediately ready to cum, cock throbbing.

He pulled off once more, kissing along the shaft as Billy groaned deep in his chest.

“Perfect. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. Billy, you’re so good.”

Billy’s eyes squeezed shut as he threw his head back with a shout, cock shooting across his stomach and Steve rushed to get it back in his mouth, swallowing around the hot pulses, sucking and tonguing at it until Billy made a pleading sound and he pulled off with one last kiss.

Billy had his arm over his forehead, hiding his eyes, face tucked into the crook of his elbow. He was shaking so hard that Steve was afraid to let him go, hands clutched tightly to his sides.

“Hey. You okay?”

Billy shoved him away with a low, wounded sound. Steve fell back against the arm of the couch, still panting as Billy pushed himself up, grabbing his sweatpants off the floor with unsteady hands.

He wouldn’t look at Steve.

“No more of that shit. No more pretending like we’re in love or whatever. I don’t like that game. It’s stupid and I hate it. So fucking annoying. You’re stupid for doing it.”

Steve watched Billy jump into the sweatpants and stumble away from the couch. He searched for his own pants, suddenly freezing in the absence of him. Tears beat at the back of his eyes.

“Don’t call me stupid.”

Christ, his voice sounded like he’d been swallowing rocks.

Billy pointed at him with a shaking hand, eyes on fire.

“Oh yeah, you don’t like that, do you? Poor little rich boy, too stupid for Daddy to love him. Gotta pay a whore to play pretend. Well, fuck that, I’m not doing it. I’ll fuck you all you want, but we’re not playing that game anymore.”

When Steve had been a teenager, just a silly kid with nothing better to do than try to get into girls’ pants, he had learned a couple of very hard lessons.

He had learned to recognize danger when it pointed poisonous fangs at him, and, most importantly, he had learned when to stand his ground when he had something worth fighting for.

He had learned how to push through the fear and plant his fucking feet.

Steve stood up, keeping his body open, hands out to the side and face completely naked with honesty.

“What if I’m not pretending?”

Billy took a step back like Steve had swung a fist his way, something pleading in the back of his eyes even as his face remained hard.

“The fuck are you trying to say?”

His dark, forbidding tone should have made Steve shy away, drop it altogether. But he couldn’t do that, not now. Not here, confronted with the shadows in Billy’s eyes and the tremor in his hands.

He let his own voice go soft and gentle, every word dropped with the same emphasis as a kiss.

“What if I’m falling in love with you?”

The sound Billy made would have been concerning under any circumstances, like his lungs couldn’t suck in enough air. His lower lip trembled just a little before firming up, going as hard as the jut of his chin.

“Then you really are fucking stupid.”

Now it was Steve’s lip’s turn to tremble, Billy watching it like it was something Steve was doing to wound him. Like Steve had punched through his chest, right in the center of his scar.

Billy’s hand reached out between them, like he might pull him into his arms. Steve ached for it so badly that his bones hurt.

The hand fell, and Billy cut a wide path around Steve, padding out into the hallway and closing the bathroom door just short of a slam.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, there’s going to be angst, but I can promise a happy ending.
> 
> What will it take to make Billy finally admit his feelings?


	23. That tries to keep a man awake at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence of the bedroom cracked like a gunshot in the sudden absence of Billy’s screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, babes, this one’s a little rough. That’s why it’s so short.

The silence of the bedroom cracked like a gunshot in the sudden absence of Billy’s screams.

Billy was breathing like he was half-drowned, shaking and heaving up bile into the wastebin at the side of the bed.

Steve lifted his wrist to his nose, catching the drip drip drip of blood that ran down his lips to slide over his chin.

The night smelled thick with iron and fear.

He got his feet under him, steadying himself against the wall so he could stand and approach the bed.

Slowly.

Silently.

Like Billy might startle and run off if Steve didn’t move in exactly the right way.

Billy’s breath caught, staring down at the blood spattered across his knuckles before finally looking up at Steve.

His eyes were still screaming.

He moaned, a low, awful sound at the sight of Steve’s face, catching ragged at the edges as it scraped out of his throat.

“I hit you.”

Steve lowered his wrist like maybe, if he didn’t call attention to it, Billy would forget about the blood on his face.

“It’s okay.”

Billy shoved off of the bed to stand on unsteady legs, pulling clothing on at random. Billy’s jeans, Steve’s sweatshirt and socks.

“It’s pretty fucking far from okay, Steve!”

It was hard to think, woken from a solid sleep this late at night and then receiving a fist to the face for his own stupidity. Steve tried to gather his thoughts around the throbbing in his head.

“You didn’t mean to, Billy. It was an accident.”

Billy was staring at Steve like he was still in a nightmare, eyes wild with fear and rage, voice shaking.

“Some fucking accident. What, you walk into a doorknob, sweetheart? Heard that one before.”

Once, when Steve was eight years old, his mother had taken him to the beach. He had carefully, painstakingly built castles and fortresses out of sand and sobbed inconsolably when he had to watch them all wash away.

This awful, foreboding pressure in his chest. This was the tide coming in.

He tried to approach, halting as Billy flinched back, hard.

“It was my fault. You warned me not to touch you when you were having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have—”

Billy jabbed a finger at Steve from across the room, the beautiful, haunted lines of his face stark in the lamplight.

“Don’t! Don’t you ever fucking say that again. This shit is not your fault. It’s me. I’m like, a cancer or whatever. A monster. You knew that. And I just proved it, once and for all.”

The finality implied in that made Steve weak at the knees, stomach churning with dread.

Especially when Billy stalked into the bathroom, Steve peering after him through the open door as he lifted the lid to the toilet tank and reached in to retrieve a tightly sealed, double zip top bagged stack of cash.

It looked like the majority of what Steve had paid him.

Billy tossed the wet bag on the bed as he ripped open his drawers, dug into the bottom of the first one, and pulled out a folded black garbage bag.

Steve was going to be sick, blood still running down his throat as his stomach rebelled.

“What are you doing?”

Billy didn’t glance up from where he was scooping the contents of both drawers into the garbage bag.

“The fuck does it look like?”

It looked like Steve’s nightmares. It looked like a sucking vacuum of terror. Like a horror flower full of teeth.

It looked like abandonment.

Steve clambered over the bed to stand at Billy’s shoulder, hands hovering over his back, unsure if he was allowed to touch, anymore.

“You can’t just leave.”

His voice broke into too many pieces for him to put it back together again.

Billy paused in ripping his clothes from the hangers in the closet, the line of his back absolutely rigid.

“I thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner here.”

The tips of Steve’s two longest fingers made contact with his back and Billy jerked away like they had burned him.

Steve folded them under his elbows, arms crossed tightly.

“You’re not. I just. I don’t want you to go. Not like this.”

As if the way Billy left made any difference. As if the reality of him leaving at all wasn’t cutting Steve in two.

Billy tied off the garbage bag, shoulders jumping in sharp, twitchy movements like he didn’t have complete control over his body.

He didn’t look at Steve.

“You’re kinda fucked up, you know that, princess? I belt you one across the face and now you’re begging me to stay. My mom was like that. Shit’s fucked up. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Billy was shaking, garbage bag rustling in his hands as he strode out into the living room, Steve at his heels.

“Billy, please.”

No eye contact, just a firm jaw and his head wrenched to the side when Steve reached out for him.

“Save it, Harrington. I’m out.”

Steve’s fingers curled around Billy’s sleeve slowly, tenderly, beseechingly.

“You can’t just—”

Billy pulled out of his grip so fast that he dropped his bag, cursing sharply as he picked it up again, nearly to the door.

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do! Get out of my way.”

Steve’s fingers hurt like roots torn from the soil. His face hurt like a giant, throbbing bruise. His heart hurt like—

“Or what, you’ll hit me again?”

But it was Billy who looked like he’d been hit, as if Steve had hauled off and slapped him with the question, eyes welling up and lip trembling.

Regret tasted like blood and tears, sour down Steve’s throat as Billy shoved past and walked out the door just short of a run.

He left it open behind him so Steve could stand there, bloody and numb, and watch him get into the elevator, metal doors slowly sliding across his closed-off face until he was out of sight.

Steve didn’t cry until he got into the shower, staring down at the pink-tinged water swirling down the drain like a heavy-handed metaphor about his idiotic dreams.

“Yeah, Marge, I’m not coming in today. Listen, just. Cancel it. All of it. Everything. No, I’m not going to be available. Not for, um. Awhile. Don’t bother calling.”

“I don’t care what you tell them. Tell them I’m dead. Don’t call again.”

“Sorry, buddy. I’m not really in the mood to talk right now. No, tomorrow’s not good either. I dunno. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Max. I’m not asking to see him or anything, just. Is he with you? Is he safe? No, I—I don’t know. It’s been two weeks. Nothing? He hasn’t—? Oh. Okay. Thanks. Yeah, you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges tomatoes 🍅 
> 
> OKAY BUT HEAR ME OUT 
> 
> It’s always darkest before the dawn, my loves. 
> 
> Happily Ever After is still in the works. These idiots just have to fight for it.


	24. I have been waiting for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve ignored the first knock on the door.
> 
> And the second.
> 
> And the third.
> 
> But there was something penetrating about the fourth, something that scooped his aching body off the couch, propelled him to the door in his pajama pants and the one cutoff George Michael shirt Billy had left behind in the laundry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t leave y’all in suspense for long!

Steve ignored the first knock on the door.

And the second.

And the third.

But there was something penetrating about the fourth, something that scooped his aching body off the couch, propelled him to the door in his pajama pants and the one cutoff George Michael shirt Billy had left behind in the laundry.

He hadn’t shaved in days, but who the fuck cared. Whoever was knocking would have to deal with it.

Probably Dustin, again, anyway. Here to throw him in the shower and make him eat soup and watch a movie or whatever.

He swung open the door, already set to tell Dustin that he was doing better and he didn’t need friends fussing over him.

In other words, lie through his teeth.

But, standing on the other side of the door with a fresh face and black leather jacket, was Billy.

In the flesh.

Golden curls and blue eyes all drawn in the shape of Steve’s best dreams.

“Forgot my Scorpions tape.”

Steve couldn’t breathe. His chest hurt from the force of his heart throwing itself in Billy’s direction. His voice wheezed out of tight lungs like a painful cough.

“Yeah?”

Clear blue eyes took him in as though Steve was a glass of water in the desert rather than the saddest sack of shit in Chicago.

“Uh-huh. And my weights. You didn’t throw all my shit out yet, did you?”

His tone was light, cool as a cucumber, but.

Billy’s feet kept shifting, boots shuffling toward and away from the door as his hands dug deep into his pockets, shoulders raised just a hair closer to his ears than usual.

Nervous.

The asshole was nervous.

Steve wanted to deck him.

Almost as much as he wanted to kiss him and never, ever stop.

Neither was an option, of course.

He swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, throat sore around the lump building inside it.

“No. No, I kept it. I was hoping you might come back. For it.”

Billy held out his hands in his pockets, jacket swinging open to reveal a crisp navy button-down. It was new.

Steve hadn’t bought that for him, he would remember. He remembered everything he gave Billy.

It looked amazing. Steve hated it on sight.

Billy smiled, but it fell flat, wobbling at the corners. It made Steve’s eyes burn and his stomach ache.

“Yeah, well. Here I am.”

Like that wasn’t obvious. Like Steve could think of anything else besides Billy. Here.

Jesus Christ.

Steve had finally broken a week in and driven up and down the docks looking for Billy, handing out fistfuls of cash to anybody who would talk to him. Had to get his bat out with one of them, but it was worth the risk, even if he had found exactly nothing.

Now, here he was. Hale and hearty and knocking on Steve’s door.

Something that had been wound painfully tight deep in Steve’s chest released at the simple knowledge that Billy wasn’t hurt, or, fuck. Dead.

Steve did his bobble head routine, acutely aware of the state of his limp, dirty hair and unshaven face. Billy might be fresh as a daisy, but Steve looked like he had just crawled out of a sewer grate to feast on the living.

“Good, Yeah. Great. It’s, uh. It’s pretty much all right where you left it.”

He stepped back to let Billy in, a discarded styrofoam takeout box crunchingand squeaking beneath his heel.

Billy walked in like it was any other day. Like he hadn’t left Steve in pieces weeks ago, still shaking from his screaming nightmares.

He took in the damage with wide eyes, catching on the trash heaped on the coffee table and the dishes piled in the sink.

“What, you fire your maid or something?”

His voice reached for the joke and fumbled, dropping it with a thud.

Steve bent down to pick up the takeout container he had stepped on, old Thai food leaking out in rancid, greasy rivulets.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug as he tossed it on top of the overflowing garbage can. It slid off the top and down the side, landing with a splat on the tile.

“Told her not to come, anymore. I wasn’t—I didn’t want to deal with it.”

Billy pulled something out of his pocket, a handful of envelopes. He held them out in Steve’s direction, eyebrows drawn together just enough for that little line to appear between them.

“I picked up your mail, it was stuffed full.”

Steve gestured vaguely at the filthy, cluttered coffee table. His skin crawled with shame.

“Oh. Thanks. You can just, put it down. Somewhere.”

Billy nodded, face tight as he looked around for an open surface and found none. He settled for dumping the brown bananas out of their bowl into the sink and putting the mail in there.

Then, without another word, he shucked his jacket and hung it on the peg before he emptied the trash, tossing the bag out into the hallway through the front door.

Billy took another trash bag and started sweeping everything on the coffee table into it, picking up the overflow off of the floor before moving on to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out some lo mein, sniffing the paper container and gagging before emptying the entire contents of the fridge into the bag.

Steve wanted to fall in a hole and die.

“What are you doing?”

Billy didn’t turn away from filling a third trash bag with all of the junk covering the bar top.

“The fuck does it look like?”

And.

Deja vu.

Oh, fuck, that hurt.

Steve felt like he was bleeding internally, just from that.

“You’re cleaning the apartment?”

The.

The apartment. Because he couldn’t say our, and he didn’t want to say mine.

So. The.

Billy picked up one of his muscle magazines with a puzzled twist to his lips, no doubt wondering why the hell Steve would have gotten it out when he had never liked them before.

Hopefully, please, god, not coming to the accurate conclusion that Steve had just wanted to hold something of Billy’s, like a weird, sad, teddy bear.

He tossed it in the bag, moving on to the trash littering the floor with a short, unreadable glance in Steve’s direction.

“Somebody’s got to, before you end up living in a roach-infested dump.”

There was the usual mean, sharp edge to his words, but his voice was gentle, something Steve wanted to sink into like a pillow.

Hope clawed its way up his throat, slithering around the lump clogging it to spill out over his lips like an audible representation of his trademark stupidity.

“Does this mean—are you? Can you stay, then?”

Billy froze mid-stoop, crushed styrofoam in hand. He took such a deep breath that Steve could see his ribcage expand in his shirt.

“I’m just gonna get this shit cleaned up and then I’ll be out of your hair, man.”

Every ounce of Steve screamed silently in protest.

No.

Not again.

He would do anything.

Steve twisted his hands in his shirt, daring a step closer to Billy, who crouched beside his trash bag warily, eyes tracking Steve’s movements.

“I don’t want you out of my hair, Billy. I want you in my hair. Or, what the fuck ever. I want you to come home. I want you in my life and in my bed and—”

The can of soda that Billy was holding crunched loudly in his fist. He turned his head away to throw it in the bag, remaining turned away as he gave his answer.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

He said it so softly that the words shouldn’t have had the weight to bruise. And yet.

Steve’s pulse was pounding in his ears, fingers numb. His mouth moved before he had time to think.

“I’ll pay double.”

All motion ceased, like Billy was some machine and Steve had just flipped the switch.

“What?”

His voice was not encouraging. Low and rough, with an edge of warning.

Steve plowed on regardless, panic a swelling balloon in his chest, forcing out the words.

“Double what I was paying you before. Or. Or you could name your terms. Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. We don’t even have to fuck or anything, just. Whatever you need. To come back.”

Whatever it takes to make you stay. Whatever the price worth putting up with Steve.

It was surely astronomical.

His parents had been multi millionaires and that had never been enough to even live in the same house with him.

Billy dropped the trash bag, stretching up to his full height. His hands rolled into fists as he jutted his chin out at Steve.

“You think you can just buy me? Wave your checkbook under my nose until I do what you want? Like a fucking dog with a treat?”

Christ, he was fucking this up.

Steve had fucked up a lot of things in his life, but this—this was a new level of fuck-up.

He shook his head frantically, letting go of his shirt to hold his hands out to Billy.

“No. No, that’s not it at all, I just—”

“Triple.”

Steve blinked, unsure that he had heard correctly, or if his mind was playing tricks on him.

“What?”

He wasn’t sure that Billy’s chin had ever jutted quite so far before. He looked ready to punch Steve through a wall as he took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

“Triple it. And I want three days a week off. Do whatever the fuck I want, no questions asked. And we drop your exclusivity bullshit. Maybe I want to spread it around on my days off, not stay tied down to your dick.”

Anything, god. No matter how much it hurt.

And, shit, that hurt.

Steve was already agreeing before he could even think about it.

“Yes. Done. So, you’ll come back? Now, today?”

Play it cool. Never let them see how much you care.

Perfect. Nailed it.

Steve was failing at every bullshit dating tip he had ever given out.

Something in Billy’s face fell as he lowered his chin, something that had once been sparkling going dull all at once.

He looked like he had been hoping for Steve to refuse.

Billy tied up the trash bag and took it to the front door, speaking with his face away from Steve.

“I gotta go pick up my shit, first. How about an advance on that raise before I go?”

An advance. Easy, yes. Steve could do that.

He tried to calculate the amount in his head, mind reeling at the figure he came up with.

But, holy shit, was Billy worth it.

“Yes, of course. I just have to run to the bank. I don’t keep that much cash in the apartment. Just, hold on. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Steve rushed out the door, ready to hit up the ATM around the corner. Billy reached out and snagged him by the slashed armhole of his shirt, brow furrowed.

“Shoes, Harrington.”

Steve had to take a moment to blink away some of the fog that had set in upon Billy’s return. All three of his brain cells were still stumbling punch-drunk on the relief of it.

“What?”

Some of the hard edges in Billy’s face softened, just a little, as he looked at Steve, human disaster.

“You’ve gotta put some shoes on. That pavement will tear your feet up. And a coat, princess. It’s still cold as shit out there.”

Steve glanced down at his bare feet, face hot with the force of his embarrassed flush.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks! I’ll be right back, just, stay here. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Billy dropped the bag to pick up Steve’s coat, holding it out to him while he hopped into his shoes. The careful distance in his eyes slipped, the Billy that had curled up with Steve on long, cold nights shining through.

“Okay, pretty boy. I’ll stick around.”

The warmth from those few words kept Steve toasty for the length of the block all the way to the ATM and back again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where has Billy been? Has Steve fucked up? Where will they go from here??


	25. Take me home tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s heart pounded as he opened his door, breath rushing out all at once when he found Billy wiping down the bar top, the scent of lemon cleaner in the air.
> 
> He held out the stack of bills, but Billy didn’t even look at them, hard gaze trained on Steve’s face.
> 
> “Put it on the dresser.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the beginning is a little rough, but these idiots finally start to get somewhere.
> 
> Content Warning: Dubious Consent, more details containing spoilers in the end notes

Steve’s heart pounded as he opened his door, breath rushing out all at once when he found Billy wiping down the bar top, the scent of lemon cleaner in the air.

He held out the stack of bills, but Billy didn’t even look at them, hard gaze trained on Steve’s face.

“Put it on the dresser.”

Steve let the bills fall limp at his side, voice soft with confusion.

“What? You want me to, like, put it in your drawer for you?”

Billy tossed his rag into the kitchen sink with a perfect overhand shot, never looking away from Steve.

“No. I want you to leave it on top of the dresser.”

Steve glanced down at the money like that might provide a clue.

“Why?”

Two steps, and Billy was in his space, face hard and voice harder.

“Because that is how you pay your whore, Harrington.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

It started to catch up to Steve, that he might have mishandled the situation by throwing money at it.

That maybe Billy had been hoping for something else.

That maybe Steve had fucked up. Again.

“Billy, I don’t. You’re not—”

The first time they touched after Billy had left, it was three of Billy’s fingers tapping the center of Steve’s chest just a little too hard, smile full of shark teeth.

“You do, and I am. Now, you’re going to go in there and put the money on the dresser and I’m going to fuck you before I touch it. That’s how this shit is supposed to work. That way you’ll know what to do the next time I’m gone and you pick up some shiny new piece off the street to replace my tired ass.”

Steve’s heart was breaking. Hairline fractures spiderwebbing throughout in tiny, painful cracks.

Gone. The next time I’m gone. Gone.

He thought about just giving Billy the apartment, about buying another house and some land and keeping him there. He wouldn’t even have to see Steve, but Steve could know that he was safe, and cared for.

He thought about giving him everything he could ask for so that he wouldn’t want to leave again.

Steve would pay anything he wanted. He would. Sell the company if he had to. Whatever it took.

Whatever Billy needed.

He walked on wooden legs to the dresser. The dresser with two empty, aching drawers too imbued with the scent of Billy’s cologne for Steve to keep anything in there ever again.

He put the money on top of the dresser and sat on the bed, untying his shoes.

Billy disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water enveloping Steve in a cloud of white noise.

When he came out again, he was naked, cock soft against his thigh. He didn’t look at the dresser, or at Steve’s face.

He pulled Steve’s shirt off over his head before tossing it behind him with a light thump against the wall.

“Get on your stomach.”

Steve turned away to crawl across the bed, skin buzzing with pins-and-needles numbness, like his whole body had gone painfully asleep.

“Pants off.”

He let his shoulders take his weight as he got his knees under him, ass in the air, working his pajama pants down his legs until Billy took over, yanking his legs straight again as he pulled them off.

He lay there quietly, listening to the rhythmic sound of Billy jerking his cock, getting himself hard and rolling on a condom.

The soft snick of a lid and Billy’s wet fingers were running down his crack, sliding one-two quick in and out of him.

Too fast for Steve to clench down, try to keep him a little longer.

Then he was pressing, hard and blunt and slick against Steve’s hole, sliding inside.

It hurt. Not terribly, but. There was a resistance to the stretch that hadn’t been there before, when Billy used to take his time with him.

Before he left.

Steve focused on the feel of Billy inside him as Billy pulled him back up on his knees, gripping him by the hipbone with one hand as he pressed their pelvises together.

They didn’t touch anywhere else.

Steve let himself go limp, breathing to the rhythm of Billy moving in his body, like he was pushing the air out of him on every thrust.

His fingers curled loosely in the sheets near his face, bunching them up to have something to hide behind when his breath started hitching in his chest.

Billy’s hand slid around his hip to grab at his cock and Steve tried to knock it away, to cup himself protectively, but it was too late.

He was soft in Billy’s hand, stomach shuddering against his knuckles with a sharp, wet inhale.

Billy made a sound like Steve had hit him.

“Fuck.”

Steve hid his damp face in the sheets as Billy pulled out.

The mattress dipped by his feet and he turned on his side to watch Billy sit at the foot of the bed, ripping the condom off and flinging it across the room before burying his face in his hands.

Steve scooted closer, waiting to see if Billy would lash out before scooting closer still, until his folded legs pressed to Billy’s warm flank.

Billy looked at him then, one hand still pressed to his mouth, just briefly, but long enough to cut Steve open, fractured heart beating against open air.

Billy stared down at his knees as he spoke, voice full of gravel.

“Did I hurt you?”

Yes.

And no.

Not the way he was asking, anyway.

“No, Billy. You were fine.”

Billy shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

They came away wet.

“You didn’t like it.”

Billy was warm, and in his bed, and all of Steve’s dreams were coming true and there was pain like an ice pick through the center of his chest.

He dared a hand on Billy’s shoulder, slow and soft like an autumn leaf settling on the ground.

“It was fine.”

Billy exploded, all sharp hand movements and twitching shoulders, even as he kept his seat on the bed, allowing Steve to press close beside him.

“Stop saying that! You said—You told me, earlier. You said that if I didn’t like something, that I should tell you. You fucking hypocrite! Why did you let me—? How could I, just? I hurt you. Fuck!”

His voice was thick with emotion, face naked and raw when he turned it to Steve, eyes like a wound.

Steve smoothed his hand over Billy’s shoulder up to his neck, giving a gentle squeeze before combing up into his hair.

He tried not to tremble at the feel of those curls catching around his fingers, just like he had imagined over and over again, alone in this bed.

Billy leaned into his touch, just a little, just enough to give Steve a neon sign.

“Billy, you didn’t like it either, did you?”

The look Billy turned on him was the same incredulous, unimpressed glare Steve had received at countless board meetings when he had expressed his opinion.

“What the fuck does that matter? Christ, you’re so fucking bad at this.”

Well, that was certainly the truth.

Steve was bad at a lot of things, but, this.

Yeah, definitely.

The worst.

He brushed a few curls off of Billy’s face, allowing his fingertips to trace over the soft skin of his temple.

“I’m sorry.”

Billy breathed out a harsh little laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all, hands shooting out expressively.

“It’s not complicated! You buy my ass, use it the way you like, kick me in the teeth and then toss the cash in my stupid bloody face on your way out the door.”

Even the thought of it made Steve’s stomach want to climb out of his throat.

He leaned his face on the rounded crest of Billy’s deltoid, slowly, carefully, rolling his eyes up to look at him.

“I don’t want to do any of that.”

Billy sighed so deeply that they both moved with it, turning his head to look into Steve’s face, his own face going soft around the edges even as his voice remained hard.

“Why do you have to make things so fucking difficult? This shit should be so simple, but you. With your face. And—And those eyes. And then you—you just say shit. Or do shit, like, nice shit, and. Fuck! You make me crazy.”

Steve sat up, some of the fear that had kept him frozen in place finally melting away under the heat in Billy’s eyes.

The sharp, compressed pain of weeks of separation propelled him forward, reaching out for Billy’s other shoulder to turn his body in Steve’s direction, gently but firmly as he met his eyes.

“Yeah? The feeling is fucking mutual.”

Billy shivered beneath his hands, closing his eyes as Steve leaned in to place a small, lingering kiss right below the corner of his mouth.

Billy’s breath started coming faster, eyes flying open, magnetized to Steve’s as Steve dragged his lips through the air in front of Billy’s mouth, close enough to feel the heat without ever touching, before dropping a second kiss beside the opposite corner.

Billy whimpered, hands coming up to grip Steve’s arms.

“Steve.”

Steve pressed another kiss there, and another, sliding his open mouth along the stubble on his chin to catch the first corner again in a slow, smutty kiss just shy of Billy’s lips.

Billy’s mouth opened against Steve’s cheek, staccato breath beating against his skin as his restless tongue came out to trace a line from Steve’s cheek, following below the curve of his lower lip to the opposite cheek.

A roaring fire lit in Steve’s belly, consuming everything in its path.

Before he knew it he had Billy on his back, biting and clawing at him even as he was careful not to hold him down or pin him in any way.

Billy arched and snapped beneath him like electricity caught between two rods, burning and writhing under Steve.

Words fell from his lips against Steve’s cheek, ragged and desperate, cracking with emotion like glass under pressure.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry, Steve. So fucking sorry. Please.”

Steve’s hands gentled, caressing instead of scratching, lips pressed where teeth had caught skin.

“Okay, Billy. Sweetheart. It’s okay.”

Billy started trembling, hard, his voice a thin, reedy thing bursting from his lungs.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I gotta keep away from you, baby. I’m no good.”

His hands framed Steve’s face, palms scraping along his stubble, fingers combing through Steve’s hair, uncaring of the state of it. His eyes were deep pools of blue, pulling Steve in with naked sincerity.

Steve tilted his chin to kiss his palm, pouring back his own sincerity, words heavy with emphasis.

“Bullshit. That’s total bullshit, Billy. You’re amazing.”

Billy’s arms came around Steve, sure and strong and unlocking all of the hidden tension in his spine all at once. He held on so tightly it was like he was afraid Steve would float away without Billy there to anchor him.

“No, you are. I can’t believe you. Fucking unreal, princess. Like a goddamned dream. Sometimes I didn’t wanna wake up because I was afraid I made you the fuck up. That’s how good you are.”

Liquid warmth flooded Steve’s chest, new life bursting through ravaged ground, lush and raw and aching.

He put his hands on Billy’s arms, trailing over his skin, firm and demanding.

“Billy, just. Touch me. Please. Can I—?”

Billy jolted into motion, hands everywhere. On Steve’s hips, his chest, his face, fingers still shaking just a little.

Billy’s expression was as open as Steve had ever seen it, pain and pleasure and, holy shit, hope. All right there on the surface.

Vulnerable.

Trusting.

Rough fingertips drifted gently across Steve’s lips, Billy’s eyes following the motion hungrily.

“Fuck, yes. Fucking. Missed you.”

The pain of Steve’s heart coming back together was so welcome, cleansing, like being renewed. He felt whole for the first time in weeks as he rubbed his hands over Billy’s scars, tripping down familiar contours, the hills and valleys of his love.

He buried his face in Billy’s neck, licking the salt from his skin, whispering secrets into his warmth.

“Christ, you’ve got no idea. Like you took a piece of me with you.”

He could feel and hear Billy swallow, hard, right beside his ear. He turned his head to bump Steve with his chin, voice hoarse and hands tight.

“Yeah, felt. Felt just like that. Fucking sucked.”

Steve rolled their bodies together, drinking in Billy’s gasp as he pressed hard, open kisses along his collarbone and down his chest, heart raging and ravenous. Punching rhythmically, relentlessly at the walls of his chest.

Billy lifted his legs, knees bent, cradling Steve’s body as he worked his way down, muscles undulating with every movement.

“Steve. Baby, just. Anything. Whatever you want.”

Steve got down to his navel, dipping his tongue in the divot with a satisfied hum as his hands petted at Billy’s hips.

“No, you. Whatever you want. Please, Billy. Show me. I’ll be so good, I promise.”

Billy took one of Steve’s hands in his, grip strong even as his fingers trembled. He brought it up to Steve’s lips, pushing his own fingers into his mouth before dropping their joined hands down low between his legs.

His breath hitched when he touched Steve’s wet fingers to his hole, eyes wide on Steve’s shocked face.

“Here. Do it.”

Steve’s heart was in his throat, strangling his words. Billy held their hands in place as he tried to pull away.

“Oh. Listen, we don’t have to. Not ever, if you don’t want. You don’t owe me anything, alright?”

Billy loosened his grip, stroking softly over the bones of Steve’s wrist and taking a sharp inhale when Steve moved his fingers in a slow, gentle circle.

“No. Shit, I just. I want you to. I’ve never, not for real. With anyone I—I cared about. Just, um, start slow. Okay?”

Steve pressed the pad of one finger into the center of his hole, kissing the rounded cap of his knee sweetly, fervently.

“Of course, Billy. Anything. Whatever you want, I swear, just let me give you what you want. Please.”

Billy arched above the sheets, hips twitching up into Steve’s hands, cock hard and leaking against his golden skin.

His eyes were glued to Steve’s face, dark with pupil and glossy with emotion.

“O-Okay.”

The weight of Billy’s trust fell on Steve like a thick, soft blanket. Keeping out the cold. Insulating them here, together, naked in their bed.

It was everything Steve had ever wanted, pressed into his hands with strong, shaking fingers.

Steve hadn’t topped a guy in a while, but his body remembered what to do, hand moving slowly, carefully against Billy’s body.

He thought about all of his favorite things for Billy to do to him, crawling lower on the bed, giving the wet tip of Billy’s cock just one little kitten lick before kissing his way to the base.

Billy groaned and writhed, one hand flying to Steve’s head, fingers buried in his hair, choking on air when Steve sucked one of his balls into his mouth.

“Shit, princess.”

Steve took a deep, steadying breath, trying to slow down his eager panting. He had never done this before, and he might suck at it, but.

Then again, he might really, really not.

Billy went completely still at the first touch of Steve’s tongue to his rim, breath punched out of him with a low sound.

“Oh. Oh, fuck. Baby, you don’t have to—I’ve never had anyone try—”

Steve lifted his head, scraping his stubble up the soft skin inside of Billy’s thigh, staring him down.

“I’m not anyone, Billy. Let me.”

The noise Billy made at that was absolutely unintentional, high and sweet and Steve just wanted to have it ringing in his ears every moment of every day.

He dropped his head back down, extending his tongue with more confidence, painting a circle around Billy’s soft, intimate skin.

He tasted more intensely Billy, here. Deep and dark and unmistakably of sex. Steve was instantly addicted, licking him up with smooth, firm laps of his tongue.

Bitten-back curses stumbled from Billy’s lips, building and building until his words broke through, rushing past the gate of his teeth.

“Pretty boy. Jesus Christ, you—I can’t believe—holy shit, don’t stop!”

Steve pointed his tongue, pressing past the barrier of muscle to dip just inside Billy’s body and Billy’s fingers clenched in his hair, pulling hard. Steve groaned at the pinpricks of pain in his scalp that went straight to his cock, pushing deeper, sloppier, bringing his hand up to circle Billy’s cock at the base, lifting it away from his body.

He teased the foreskin down and back up over the head while he licked into him until Billy knocked his hand away with a growl, twisting beneath him.

He tugged Steve’s head up, craning his neck to meet his eyes.

“Enough. I’m gonna blow if you keep that up. Not pulling any punches, are you? Goddamn, Harrington.”

Steve grinned, swooping his head to bite gently at the fleshiest part of Billy’s thigh.

Billy kept tugging at his hair until he started to crawl back up his body, Billy’s fingers going lax and brushing the hair back from Steve’s forehead before trailing down to his mouth, wiping the saliva away and rubbing his thumb over Steve’s lower lip.

“You’re a fucking menace, baby.”

Steve sucked the thumb into his mouth, moaning around it as Billy’s lips parted, eyes burning. His voice was a rumble in his chest, moving through Steve like an earthquake.

“Jesus. Definitely missed that.”

Something hungry in Steve pushed to the surface, making him bold. He pulled Billy’s thumb out with a wet pop, grazing his teeth over the rough pad.

“Yeah? What else did you miss?”

Billy’s hands fell to Steve’s ass, hauling him further up with a rough squeeze.

“This.”

He let one hand burrow between their bodies, wrapping it tight around Steve’s cock and pumping slowly, torturously just twice before letting go again.

“This.”

Soft, careful fingers drifted up to Steve’s face, hesitating before tracing feather-light across his eyelids, catching on his lashes.

“These. Baby, you don’t even know.”

Steve allowed the fingers on his dry hand to trace over Billy’s eyebrows, lingering on the tiny scar there.

“I think I do, actually.”

Billy’s mouth opened like he intended to say something, but only breath came out, harsh and fast.

He surged up to latch onto Steve’s throat, sucking a hard, possessive mark too high to be hidden by his collar.

Steve keened, stretching his neck to bare his throat further, catching Billy’s curls in clutching hands.

Billy lifted his hips, bucking Steve up off the bed, stomach flexing hard against Steve’s cock.

“Come on, sweetheart. Get this show on the road. I need—”

He cut himself off, mouth clamping shut with a click of his teeth, eyes sliding away from Steve’s to stare at the wall.

Steve kissed the underside of his jaw, letting Billy avoid his eyes, voice dragging soft and low.

“Love it when you tell me what you need, Billy. Love giving it to you, just how you want it. Love—”

Billy reached across the pillows for the lube, poking the hard plastic cap between Steve’s lips, grinning when he spat it out with a nose wrinkle of disgust.

“That clear enough communication for you, sweetheart?”

His sharp, teasing grin cut right through Steve’s last defenses as Steve sat up on his knees. His hands fumbled the lube, pouring too much on his fingers, dripping some down onto Billy’s stomach.

Billy just swiped it up on his palm, stroking his own cock with half-lidded eyes, watching Steve, pulling his knees up to open himself to Steve’s fingers.

Steve had never seen anything more beautiful, his brain sending words tripping over his tongue before he could think.

“Gorgeous, Billy. You’re so beautiful like this.”

He pressed his fingers to Billy’s entrance, teasing at the ring of muscle loosened by his tongue.

He caught Billy’s eyes before pressing one finger in, slowly slipping inside to the last knuckle.

“So strong.”

Billy turned his head away, eyes squeezed shut.

Steve stopped moving, hand completely still.

“Look at me.”

Billy snapped his head back, eyes flaring up at Steve, teeth bared.

Steve’s cock throbbed, finger rubbing gently at the slick hot silk of Billy’s body.

“Perfect. Just like that.”

Billy growled, shoving down on Steve’s finger, one rough hand squeezing tight around the head of his own cock.

“Hurry the fuck up. I’m not gonna break. You can’t do any worse to me than I’ve had before, Steve.”

Steve gentled his hand at that, pulling out to graze two fingers over Billy’s entrance like he was pressing kisses there with his fingertips.

“I know. That’s why I’m gonna do so much better than you’ve had before. Treat you the way you deserve.”

Billy hissed, face twisting with anger, hand so hard around his cock that it had to hurt. His voice dipped low and rough, sharp and jagged in the air between them.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Steve leaned forward as he worked two fingers inside Billy, pressing a kiss to the scar at the center of his chest, catching and keeping his gaze.

“Yes, Billy. You do. Shut up and let me show you, already.”

He felt around slowly, carefully, finding the rounded bump of Billy’s prostate and brushing his fingers over it lightly, questioningly.

Billy grunted around Steve’s name, thigh muscles jumping against his sides. His cheeks were flushed, rosy all the way across the bridge of his nose.

Steve repeated the motion, harder and more direct and Billy cried out, releasing his cock to grab onto Steve’s forearm with an iron grip.

Steve went still, ignoring the insistent ache in his own cock as he focused on Billy’s blown-open face panting up at him.

“Tell me how you want it, Billy.”

Billy shook his head, biting his lip as his brow furrowed in concentration.

“It’s fine.”

The words hit Steve like a spike through the heart, hand retreating as far as Billy’s grip allowed.

He set his jaw in a stubborn line, pinning Billy with his gaze.

“No. We’re doing this just the way you want. Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.”

They stared at each other for a long, silent moment before Billy broke, whispering quietly up at Steve.

“Could you? Just, softer, maybe?”

The pain released in Steve’s chest as he dotted kisses over Billy’s skin. He let his fingers move again, barely grazing over Billy’s prostate as he stretched him open. He wrapped his other hand around Billy’s cock, handling him with care.

“Good. That’s so good. Thank you for letting me know. Like this?”

Billy hissed his affirmation through his teeth, back bowing off the bed as his cock jumped in Steve’s hand.

Steve nodded nonsensically, joy and desire effervescent beneath his skin.

“Perfect. Want me to keep going?”

Billy reached for him, grabbing on tightly and pulling Steve closer, lifting his head up with pleading eyes.

“Steve. Please.”

Steve shushed him gently, carefully twisting the tip of a third finger in alongside the first two.

“Okay, sweetheart. Just need you to take one more for me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Billy blinked at that, mouth dropping open as his eyes welled up, blue shimmering up at Steve through a curtain of unshed tears.

Steve almost pulled back again but Billy grabbed his wrist, encouraging his fingers inside while he watched Steve’s face. He had to try twice to get his words out, low and earnest.

“Unbelievable, pretty boy.”

Steve lost his own words, just gawking stupidly at Billy’s perfect face while he stretched him open until he took all three fingers with ease.

His voice was stretched thin with need when he tried to speak, letting go of Billy’s cock to cup his cheek.

“Think you’re ready for me, now?”

Vulnerability flashed across Billy’s face like a devastating storm before being glossed over with the smug, cocky glow that Steve was used to seeing in bed.

“Oh, I’m definitely ready. Question is, princess, “ he grabbed Steve’s cock, jerking it slow and hard, grinning when Steve gave a shocked moan, “are you ready for me?”

Steve nodded so hard that Billy grinned even wider, eyes sparkling. He slapped Steve on the hip with the condom wrapper, eyebrows tilted up.

“You think so? Put your dick where your mouth is, then, baby.”

Steve rolled on the condom, slicking himself up with far more lube than necessary before dropping down on top of Billy, framing his head with braced forearms.

He combed his clean hand through Billy’s curls, gazing into blue eyes. They tightened at the corners when he pushed forward just a little, the blunt tip of his cock bumping against his entrance.

“Yeah?”

Billy nodded, lifting his chin to rub it over the tense line of Steve’s arm beside his head.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Said I wanted it, didn’t I? So, fucking give it to me.”

Steve was already moving, hips thrusting slowly, pressing in a bare inch before pulling out again and repeating the process.

Billy held his breath, eyes unfocused over Steve’s shoulder. Steve tapped their noses together, earning a heated glare.

He smiled, tapping noses again, still petting through Billy’s curls.

“Just you and me, alright?”

Billy’s expression struggled through a few emotions before cracking open under Steve, naked and sweet and raw.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Steve inched his way further and further inside, pausing to praise Billy or kiss his face whenever it creased, until, finally, his hips rested tight to Billy’s pelvis, fitting together so perfectly it took his breath away.

Billy watched him with wide eyes, shifting restlessly under Steve as he held himself still, all the way inside.

He took Steve’s hips in both hands, lifting and dropping him insistently.

“Come on, move! Thought I asked you to fuck me, not take a goddamned nap.”

Steve pulled his hips back, withdrawing halfway before thrusting back in, long and deep and slow. He started up a slow, sensual rhythm of measured strokes, monitoring every twitch of Billy’s face. Billy’s hands went slack around his hips, holding on loosely while he moved.

Billy’s eyebrows drew together as his mouth dropped open, tongue lolling out like he just couldn’t keep it inside, poking out between his words.

“Oh. Oh, fuck. Holy—Steve, fuck!”

It was too soon, but Steve could already feel his balls drawing up, electric pleasure tingling in the base of his spine like a threat.

He pushed up on one elbow, reaching down between their bodies to stroke Billy’s slick cock in time with his thrusts.

Billy’s thighs trembled against him, strong, thick legs coming up to wrap around Steve’s back, heels drumming into his ass.

Steve watched him through the flop of his hair over his forehead, shaking it out of his eyes.

“Good, so good, Billy. You feel incredible, can’t believe I get to be inside you, baby.”

Billy brought his hands up to wrap around Steve’s back, fingertips digging in just shy of leaving a mark.

“Fuck. Sweetheart, I—I’m not gonna last. You feel—I can’t.”

Steve sent up a silent prayer of thanks that Billy was as close to the edge as he was. He sped up his thrusts, changing the angle when Billy winced until his face showed nothing but pleasure, satisfied lust spilling from his eyes.

“Perfect, that’s perfect. Come for me, let me see you fall apart on my cock, baby.”

Billy started shooting before Steve even finished his sentence, spilling in hot, wet pulses over Steve’s fist and up his own chest, mouth open around a low, hard moan.

He clenched tight around Steve’s cock and it was only by his sheer focus on memorizing Billy’s face in that moment that Steve didn’t come, himself.

Billy’s legs lost their grip around him, falling heavily to the bed on either side. He grunted, eyes squeezing shut on Steve’s next thrust and Steve went still, ignoring the protest of his aching dick.

“Holy shit, Billy. That was—you’re amazing. Want me to stop, now? Pull out and finish on your stomach?”

Billy shook his head, opening his eyes to lock on Steve’s face, hot and sharp.

“I don’t think so, princess. I’m not done with you, yet.”

He dragged a hand through the still-warm mess on his chest, bringing his wet fingers down and around, pressing two inside of Steve’s ass with a honey-slow smile.

Billy planted his feet on the mattress, using the leverage to lift his hips up and take Steve impossibly further even as his fingers twisted inside, seeking out Steve’s sweet spot and earning a long, deep groan of pleasure.

Steve couldn’t help it, his hips moved like they were possessed, fucking into Billy and back onto his fingers as helpless noises clawed their way from his throat, tumbling from his lips around the shape of Billy’s name.

Billy’s voice was low and rough in his ear, tongue flicking out to caress the shell of it.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Come for me, pretty boy.”

The words sent warmth flooding his bloodstream like a drug, but it was the soft, sweet press of Billy’s lips to Steve’s cheek that sent him careening over the edge, filling up the condom with a shout.

He collapsed on top of Billy, catching his breath while strong, lazy fingers combed through his hair and trailed down his back.

With a deep, heartfelt sigh, he pulled out slowly and carefully, tying off the condom and taking it to the wastebin.

The chill of the room started to settle on his skin with the cold touch of reality, turning to find Billy watching him warily, still sprawled across the bed.

Steve perched on the mattress, heart still pounding and mind slow with lingering pleasure.

“Do you think we should—?”

Billy shook his head, reaching out to yank Steve back down against him.

“Fuck no. Don’t think. C’mere.”

Steve hissed at the cooling puddle of cum sticking them together and Billy rolled his eyes, balling up Steve’s three hundred dollar duvet and wiping up the mess with it before tossing it to the side.

Billy smelled like comfort and sex and leather and Steve wanted nothing more than to bury his face into all his hollow places and breathe him in like oxygen for his soul.

He tried to speak, to sit up and have a mature, adult discussion, but.

But Billy was warm and relaxed in his bed, and Steve hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in three weeks, and Billy’s hands were petting him softly, his chest firm beneath Steve’s cheek, and—

Sleep pulled him under while Billy murmured into his hair, taking deep, audible sniffs of his unwashed scalp.

“There you go, sweetheart. We can have this, just for a little while. Just for tonight.”

The last thing Steve felt before succumbing to sleep was the gossamer-light touch of a fingertip tracing his lips like a love letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Billy initiates sex that neither of them want or enjoy, and stops when he realizes that Steve isn’t having a good time.
> 
> If you wish to skip it, the scene starts with  
> “Billy disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water enveloping Steve in a cloud of white noise.”  
> And ends with  
> “Steve scooted closer, waiting to see if Billy would lash out before scooting closer still, until his folded legs pressed to Billy’s warm flank.”
> 
> Alright, babes, we’re getting close to the end.
> 
> What has Billy been doing all this time? How will they move on from all of this?
> 
> Can they be together as a real couple, now? WILL THEY EVER KISS???
> 
> So many questions to be answered...


	26. You know I will adore you til eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The money was still on the dresser in the morning.
> 
> Steve very carefully didn’t look at it as he made his way quietly into the shower, shaving haphazardly before tiptoeing to the kitchen.
> 
> He left Billy sprawled across the bed, drooling on the pillow and snoring loudly. 
> 
> Steve had only spent five, maybe ten—Okay, twenty minutes just staring at him. Tracing over the lines of his face, soft with sleep, and so very dear.
> 
> He could have spent an hour or two, easily.
> 
> But he had plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, y’all! The end of this novel length trash pile. Thank you for reading and commenting, y’all really do make my day! 
> 
> CHECK OUT THIS AMAZING MOODBOARD:
> 
> Made by the incomparable catharrington, it makes this fic look so much classier than it is and I love it down to my toes!  
> Go scream at her on tumblr about how much you love it!
> 
> Let me know if the image doesn’t work, I am bad at things so I wouldn’t be surprised.

The money was still on the dresser in the morning.

Steve very carefully didn’t look at it as he made his way quietly into the shower, shaving haphazardly before tiptoeing to the kitchen.

He left Billy sprawled across the bed, drooling on the pillow and snoring loudly.

Steve had only spent five, maybe ten—Okay, twenty minutes just staring at him. Tracing over the lines of his face, soft with sleep, and so very dear.

He could have spent an hour or two, easily.

But he had plans.

Plans that involved getting the stepladder so he could disable the fire alarm.

Like all the best plans did.

Billy stumbled out of the bedroom in nothing but unbuttoned jeans, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

His curls sprung in every direction, pulled this way and that by Steve’s fingers in the night. His cheek was creased with red pillow marks, shiny with drool.

Steve had never seen anything more lovely.

Billy stopped at the dining table, taking in the spread with a furrowed brow, arms freezing mid-stretch.

“You made breakfast?”

Steve stomach was trying to do something that felt very inadvisable, some kind of acrobatic feat that involved flipping over and over again.

He gestured weakly at the platters of charred bacon and pancakes that he had somehow managed to burn on one side even as they were doughy and undercooked on the other.

“Well, tried to, anyway.”

Billy took a bite of burnt bacon, barely wincing at the bitter crunch of char around the edges.

“Thanks, man. S’good.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at the loud, painful-sounding crunch of Billy’s chewing.

He gave a deep sigh, letting his hand drop down in defeat.

“It isn’t, but thanks for eating it anyway.”

Billy’s eyes sparkled over his glass as he took a swig of orange juice to wash down the lump of charcoal he had just ingested.

“Holy shit, it really isn’t, sweetheart. But thanks for trying. It, uh. Means a lot, to me. That you would try.”

Steve watched in slack-mouthed aroused disgust as Billy noisily sucked the grease from his fingers, wiping off the excess on his jeans.

There were no lumps in his pockets the size of Steve’s stack of cash. Steve itched to go check the dresser again, just to see.

It felt important, to know if Billy had taken it.

He wasn’t sure why.

Billy peered around him into the kitchen with an exaggerated wince at the mess.

“You got any more eggs?”

Which, okay, the answer should have been yes, because Steve had bought half a dozen and the pancakes had only needed three, but.

“No. Shit, I broke all the ones I didn’t use for the pancakes.”

Steve had been astonished at how easy it was to break eggs without even trying, the little fuckers just seemed to crush themselves in his hands, “I can run to the corner store and pick some more up? If you. Will you still be here? When I get back?”

Billy watched him with soft eyes, body still loose and sleep-warm from Steve’s bed. It made Steve’s heart clench with terrified joy.

Billy’s hand twitched in Steve’s direction, fingers extending like he might reach out before curling back into his palm and jerking a thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

“Yeah. I’ll be here. Somebody’s got to clean up the kitchen, looks like a fucking bomb went off in there. What, did you throw the flour at the bowl from across the room?”

Steve carried the sound of Billy’s laughter and the shape of his wide, goofy grin all the way to the store with him.

“So, okay, hear me out. What if, instead of eggs, I just got a shit ton of potato chips? That’s like, practically the same, right?”

Steve had gotten both, actually, but he was desperate to hear Billy laugh again.

Billy didn’t laugh.

He was standing just inside the kitchen beside the trash can, flour-smudged arms crossed over his chest, watching Steve from under dour eyebrows.

Steve nearly broke the second batch of eggs, fumbling them in his hands at the harsh, closed-off expression on Billy’s face.

There was something poking out of the hinged lid of the trash can, the neck of an empty bottle of whiskey sticking up like evidence in a crime scene.

Steve’s heart plummeted to the tile floor, guilt squeezing his throat like a painful, frigid hand.

He hadn’t thrown that away.

It had been full. Unopened.

Steve had bought it two weeks ago after pacing outside the liquor store for an hour, brought it home and hidden it in his cabinet.

And then, every night, he would take it out, set it on the kitchen bar top, and sit in front of it for a while.

Just, sitting. Heart pounding. Fight or flight.

It had felt like all of those Hawkins nights that he had gone out into the woods alone at night with only his bat for company, just pacing, patrolling.

Like the danger wouldn’t come if he put himself right in front of it.

The bottle had a seal around the top, red wax dripping thick like gore. Steve had never touched the seal.

It had been viciously torn open before it went into the trash, edges raw like a fresh wound.

Billy spoke in short, clipped bursts, jaw jutting hard and defensive.

“I dumped that shit down the drain. Searched for more, but that’s all I found. You fall off the wagon while I was gone?”

Steve took a deep breath, being very careful with his body language, open and honest.

“No.”

He didn’t fall off. He might have leaned a bit too far over the edge, scrambling and tearing his nails up trying to hold on. But, he didn’t fall off.

Billy squinted at him like he might find evidence of a drinking binge in Steve’s morning hair. He dropped his arms with a tight roll of his shoulders. His hand clenched and released at his side, over and over as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“You lying to me?”

Fair, but. Ouch.

Steve met Billy’s eyes, shaking his head slowly side to side as he set his groceries gently down on the table.

“No.”

Billy’s chest lifted with a deep, harsh inhale, letting it out again with a flare of his nostrils. He nodded once, sharply, and took a few steps closer. Close enough to reach out and brush the hair back from Steve’s forehead, fingers tracing around the curve of his ear.

“Alright. You’re done with that shit now, yeah?”

Steve leaned into his hand, spine melting with relief, voice raw from swallowing the weight of his guilt.

“Yeah.”

Billy let his hand slide down to rest on the side of Steve’s neck, one broad thumb caressing his jawline. His eyebrows pulled together, mouth dipping down in a worried frown that Steve ached to rub away with his lips.

“Do I—Do you want me to call somebody, or something? Henderson? I don’t—I don’t know how this shit is supposed to work.”

Steve held out his arms halfway, awkward and unsure, nauseous with hope.

“No. Just. C’mere.”

Billy approached slowly, body stiff when Steve wrapped his arms around, leaning his forehead on Billy’s shoulder. He whispered his confession into the fragrant silk of Billy’s skin, lips dragging across the line of his scars.

“It was hard. Really fucking hard, but. I didn’t. I swear, Billy. I shouldn’t have brought that into the apartment and I’m sorry.”

Billy’s hand came up to cup the base of Steve’s skull and it was like he unlocked something deep in Steve’s bones, pain leaking out from where it had collected over time.

“You can’t do that shit, okay? Fucking promise me.”

Steve rolled his head against Billy’s collarbone, up and down, hands clutching at the wings of his shoulder blades.

“Okay, Billy. I promise.”

Billy’s mouth brushed against the top of Steve’s head before he released him, snatching the eggs from the table and stomping back into the kitchen.

Steve leaned against the opposite counter to watch him work at the stove, eyes greedy on the strong lines of his back.

The question that had been beating at the walls of his mind with a thousand nail-bats stumbled from his lips, abrupt and halting. He dug his hands through his own hair like that might help to hold him together.

“Where have you been? If I-Can I ask that? Is it too much? It’s probably too much. I don’t want to overwhelm you. You don’t have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or—”

Billy paused before flipping the eggs, not even glancing back at Steve. Every muscle in his back went tense, scars pulling at his skin in different directions. His voice scraped as slow and matter-of-fact as his spatula.

“The holiday inn on fifth.”

Steve’s flimsy, ramshackle train of thought jumped the tracks, careening into the side of a mountain of disbelief in a spectacular explosion.

“What.”

That was only five blocks away from the apartment. Billy had been close by the entire time. Steve didn’t know why that made him feel better even as it tore through his chest like a cannonball.

The next question struggled its way from between his teeth before he could clench them shut around it.

“Were you working? Did you, with anyone? While you were gone?”

Billy half turned that time, shoulders jerking. He lifted the pan from the stove with a harsh laugh, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Does it matter? A couple more notches on my belt would be a fucking drop in a bucket, Steve.”

This was one of those times when Steve’s heart and head started an internal discussion that descended into flying fists.

He shoved the words his head had chosen through reluctant lips, heart screaming silently in protest.

“It doesn’t. We didn’t have any kind of, um, understanding. When you left, so,” he watched Billy carefully dish out the eggs onto a plate before replacing the pan and cracking two more effortlessly in one hand, “I know you don’t care, really, but I haven’t been with anyone but you since I first brought you home. I just—just thought you should know.”

Billy nodded, staring down at his eggs sizzling in the pan. When he spoke, it was so softly that Steve had to strain to hear him over them.

“Me neither.”

Steve tried to look through his skull, silently willing him to turn around with the force of his stare, desperate to see his face.

Billy stiffened at his silence, scraping up the eggs and slapping them down on the other plate. The yolks broke open, bleeding a golden mess over his carefully prepared breakfast.

“It’s fine if you don’t believe me. Once a whore, always a whore, right?”

Steve jumped off the counter to fling his arms around Billy, ignoring his muttered curse as he clicked off the stove and shoved them back from the burning pan.

He rubbed his face into Billy’s spine, voice trembling but hands firm.

“No, Billy. I believe you. I—thank you.”

Billy broke away to scoop up both plates, arching his eyebrow at Steve while he set them on the table, face carefully casual.

“For what? Giving my ass a break?”

Steve accepted the offered fork, slipping into the chair opposite Billy to watch him shovel an entire egg into his mouth.

He had given Steve the plate with the unbroken yolks.

Steve waited for Billy to glance up and catch his eye, smiling at the rounded lump of his cheek stuffed with egg.

“Thank you for being honest, when it counts.”

Billy swallowed the lump, eyes dropping shyly to the table. He guzzled half of his juice before looking back at Steve, hand tight around his glass. His face did something complicated before his expression firmed, like he was bracing himself.

“Talked to that doctor.”

There were many times in Steve’s life when he wished to be smarter, quicker on the uptake.

This was one of them.

“What?”

Billy’s leg was jiggling so hard under the table that the chairs beside him rattled metallically.

“The one from the facility, that I told you about? Gave me his card, or whatever. So, I called it. Told him I had hurt somebody I—somebody I really didn’t want to hurt, and. He’s gonna keep helping me. Shrink my head and stuff, you know?”

Oh.

The light in Steve’s chest that had always burned just for Billy flared hot and bright, leaving him feeling like he had swallowed a supernova. He tried to contain his enthusiasm, to dial his smile back from blinding.

“Billy. That’s great! Fantastic.”

Billy kept glancing at and looking away from Steve, like he couldn’t quite get this out with full eye contact.

Steve’s hands ached with the urge to reach for him, nails biting into his own palms as he forced them to keep still while Billy continued.

“Wants me to be, like, functional? I guess. So, I’m calling him every couple of days, now. He’s got me on like, a plan. Or something.”

A plan. Jesus.

Of all the things Steve had considered Billy might have been doing, this wasn’t even on the bottom of the list.

Steve wanted to punch himself in the face for his lack of faith.

He had to swallow back eggs and tears, knuckles white around his fork to keep him from reaching for Billy’s hand.

“That’s amazing, Billy. I’m so fucking proud of you, man.”

Billy shoved up from the table with a roll of his eyes, belied by the soft, pleased flush that spread across his cheeks.

“Don’t make it a big deal, Harrington.”

Steve scrambled up and followed him into the kitchen like there was an invisible string connecting them. He watched Billy take the orange juice out of the refrigerator, hesitating before setting it down on the counter and turning to face Steve.

Steve took a sharp breath when Billy planted his feet and met his eyes, determination written across his face.

“So. One of the things he helped me with, was, uh. I got a job. Working on cars. I start Monday.”

Steve didn’t understand why a foreboding shiver started to run down his spine, Billy’s eyes direct and measuring.

“Oh, yeah?”

There. Cool, relaxed. Totally normal response.

Billy nodded, gripping the counter behind him like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

“Yeah, it pays pretty well, so. So I won’t be needing two jobs.”

Steve’s throat clicked when he swallowed, chest aching. He knew what Billy meant by that, but he had to ask, compelled by the gnawing, howling fear of losing him for good.

“What do you mean, exactly?”

Billy stared him down with clear blue eyes, letting go of the counter and holding his arms stiff at his side as if he was resisting the urge to cross them over his chest.

“I mean I quit, Steve. You’re gonna need to find another hooker. I could give you some names, get a couple of recommendations for you if you want.”

Steve briefly and emphatically considered balling up his shirt and screaming into it for, like, an hour.

Instead, he held his hand out to Billy, slowly, letting it hover in the air between them in clear invitation.

“No, I—I don’t want. Billy, you have to know I don’t want that.”

Billy considered Steve’s hand like it was a coiled snake, pressing himself back against the counter so hard that it was going to leave a mark. His voice snapped out between them like cracking ice.

“Well, I’m not taking your money anymore. Getting out of the dick-slinging game for good.”

Deep breath, Steve. Toes on the edge of the cliff, looking down, and.

Leap.

“What if I didn’t pay you?”

Billy’s gaze was sharp, but fragile, like a shimmering shard of glass. His tongue peeked out to wet the line of his lips, brows drawn down. His voice hit hard and low, like a bare-knuckle punch.

“What the fuck are you saying?”

Steves heart was a battering ram, pulse pounding in his throat as he swallowed down the last of his doubt. The old familiar rush of sheer, stupid courage carried him the rest of the way, staring into Billy’s beautiful face.

“I’m saying, I want you to stay. I’m saying, I love you, Billy.”

One big, heavy step and Billy was in his space, close enough to feel his warm breath as he lifted his chin up at Steve, voice laced with challenge.

“So you want me to suck your dick and cook your dinner and alphabetize your cabinets for, what? Nothing?”

It was a good front, and it had worked before, but.

But now Steve saw the wavering corners of his lips and the bloody battle being waged by hope and fear in his eyes.

He lifted his hand to cup that stubborn chin, brushing his thumb just beneath the sweet swell of Billy’s lower lip.

He couldn’t muster more than a whisper, soft and earnest, strong for all that it was terrified.

“I just want you, even if all you’ll take in return is, well, me.”

Billys eyes glittered with tears, voice small and quiet, barely breathed between parted lips, grazing Steve’s thumb.

“Really?”

Relief hit Steve like a truck, leaving him reeling beneath the impact with a shy, growing smile.

“I shit you not, man. I’m crazy about you. Please don’t leave me.”

Billys arms came up around him like a benediction, cherry lips molded around his name.

“Steve.”

Steve clung to him, gathering close every ounce of Billy that he could reach, gently holding his cheek to gaze into his eyes, letting his truth flood out, those insurmountable walls nothing but rubble all around them.

“I love you, Billy. So much, please—”

Billy fisted both hands in Steve’s sweater, crowding him back until he was practically perched on the countertop, eyes burning.

“Pretty boy. Shut up.”

Certain parts of Steve knew certain things.

His ears knew the sound of Billy’s breathing when he was coming out of a nightmare, the cadence of his footsteps barefoot on the tile, the little hum he made when the first drag of a cigarette was exactly what he needed.

His eyes knew the precise golden shade of Billy’s hair in the sunlight, the deep ocean blue of his eyes, the silhouette of him spread across white sheets.

Steve’s body knew that Billy’s lips were soft and talented, that his teeth were sharp and his tongue was strong, but.

But he hadn’t known, not really, not entirely, not until this moment.

Not until Billy lifted his mouth to Steve’s, slow and sweet and devastating.

Every nerve in Steve’s lips sparked to life as they parted around a gasp, Billy wasting no time to slip inside for a taste.

He tasted like orange juice and Billy and dawning, shining hope.

Billy kissed like it was all they were put on this Earth to do. Like he never wanted to stop. Like kissing Steve was his version of paradise.

His hands came up to frame Steve’s face, tilting his head for a better angle as his talented tongue left Steve in ruins.

It was all Steve could do to hold on, grateful for the support of the counter as his knees buckled just a little, dropping him level with Billy, who responded by sucking Steve’s lower lip between his teeth, pulling back with a wet pop that Steve could feel in his dick.

Billy’s eyes were wild, lips red and swollen and Steve wanted nothing more than to dive right back in and stay there for another hour or twenty four.

But Billy’s lips were trembling, hands cupping Steve’s face to hold his gaze as he sucked in a long, painful sounding breath, letting it out in a rush of words.

“Fuck. You gotta know, baby. How gone I am on you. Just, obliterated.”

Something in Steve that had been aching and cold for longer then he could remember thawed, and softened, and opened up like the first fragile blossom of spring.

Billy must have seen it on his face because his lips tilted up in a tiny, sweet smile before Steve crashed down on him like a natural disaster, all desperate moans and magnetized lips and clumsy, clutching hands.

Billy met him on his level, teeth already coming into play as he scraped them over Steve’s tongue before sucking it better slowly, sloppily, tenderly.

Steve overturned the spice rack on the counter, scrambling for Billy’s shoulders as Billy hooked strong hands under his thighs, lifting Steve off the ground with an earthy grunt.

“C’mon, princess.”

Steve wound himself around Billy like a clinging vine, refusing to relinquish his lips as he carried him into the bedroom without a stumble, legs solid and feet sure.

Steve was already struggling out of his shirt and sweater by the time Billy dropped him onto the bed, dribbling off his own jeans with impatient hands before snagging Steve’s and ripping them off, seams popping in protest.

He paused with one knee on the bed between Steve’s splayed legs, just taking him in with heavy-lidded eyes, tongue tracing over his abused lips.

“Jesus. So fucking pretty.”

Steve whined and reached for him with grabby hands, hooking his ankle around the back of Billy’s thigh to pull him down to the bed.

He fell with a bubble of laughter pressed into Steve’s chest and Steve was bursting with joy.

His fingers combed through Billy’s riotous curls, lifting his head as he pushed up on his elbows, belly to belly.

“Love you. I know I keep saying it, but, god, I love you so much, Billy.”

Billy’s brow furrowed, little, unhappy lines appearing between his eyebrows and around his mouth. Steve tried to smooth them away with his thumb.

Billy caught his hand, speaking directly into Steve’s palm even as he stared into his eyes.

“I’ve never, like, said it. The words. Not to anyone, not since my mom left.”

Steve could live with that.

Had lived with that, most of his life, with his parents.

If anything, he was accustomed to never hearing the words.

He would rather Billy be honest and sincere than say something he may not mean, just to please Steve.

Steve buried the part of himself that clamored for the words, just to hear them, just once. He stomped that part down under the dirt where he wouldn’t have to hear it crying anymore, letting the rest of himself open up with a smile.

He shifted his palm to caress Billy’s cheek, pouring his love into every fingertip.

“That’s okay, you never have to say it if you don’t want to, Billy. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you. I love you just the way you are, and you don’t need to—”

Billy turned his head and nipped Steve’s thumb sharply, lips following after in a soft, sweet kiss.

“Would you shut up and let me finish? Goddamn, I’m in love with a motormouth.”

All of his life, Steve had heard the term ’heart skipped a beat’ and written it off as overblown poetic hyperbole.

Until his heart skipped a fucking beat.

“Billy. Oh, my god.”

Billy lifted his chin, eyes flashing at Steve from beneath thick, dark lashes. His hands tightened on Steve possessively, harsh with nerves.

“Yeah, you heard me. I fucking love you. Deal with it.”

The words went straight to Steve’s bloodstream, coursing through his body in a wild, ripping current, turning him inside out in all the best ways.

He didn’t know if he was laughing or crying or both but it didn’t matter because Billy was looking at him with love in his eyes and Steve never wanted to be anywhere but in this moment for the rest of his life.

He tugged Billy down to him with demanding hands, pulling on a springy curl just a touch too hard with a love-drunk grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, asshole.”

Billy resisted just long enough to get in the last word, growling with promise as his body rolled over Steve’s, hot and hard and ready.

“As if I’m ever gonna stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and then they lived (fucked) happily ever after!
> 
> I’m considering adding onto this AU later with a few scenes from Billy’s POV, would anyone be interested in that?  
> I’m also vaguely considering a holiday one shot in this universe, if I have time.
> 
> If you enjoyed this or my other works, follow me on Twitter @acthomas_books  
> I have a few original mm romance smutty novels coming out soon and I will update on there with more information.
> 
> I also just joined (civilization) tumblr as heck-in-a-handbasket so you can come watch me try to figure that out and stumble around if you want.


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